Bushy and the Beast
by Wonk
Summary: A new fairy tale begins as an old one ends. Snape was cursed with ugliness when he refused shelter to an old woman, and his condition can only heal with requited love. But who could ever love a beast? SSHG.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from the Harry Potter series, nor is the tale of Beauty and the Beast mine. This story is AU as of HBP, especially considering Snape's loyalties, job, heritage, and living arrangements. 

**Prologue**

It was a bitterly cold night when a hag appeared at the door of Snape Manor.

Frost delicately clung to each window, humbling the bright stained glass in its icy wake. Emotions, however, seemed to be even colder inside. It was said that Mr. and Mrs. Snape had died young, as they had preferred, and left a considerable fortune to their only son, Severus Snape. He was a follower of the Darkness, many would say. He even had the Mark. He was dauntingly handsome, with large blue eyes, a straight, dignified nose, and a generous mouth that preferred the shape of a sneer. The ladies of the village were enamored with him, but each girl that entered his garden was sent home with a new view of Severus Snape; and one that no longer seemed so handsome.

It is not known whether the hag happened upon his Manor by chance, or whether it attracted her by some odd calling. But either way, on the eve of young Snape's twenty-fifth birthday, she searched for shelter but was not so fortunate to find it under his roof.

Yelling through the swirls of snow, he told the old woman to go away from his home and to not bother him again. But he did not expect her to pull out a wand when he refused her for a second time. Before he could reach for his own, the hag placed a curse on him and wandered away through the snow, disappearing into the white and gray afternoon.

"I curse you, Severus Snape," she had said, her voice as wispy as the dying dusk. "I curse you and your home. May your face reflect your heart." She had bent over and spat at his feet. "And if you cannot find requited love by your fortieth birthday, you will remain in the darkness forever."

Nonplussed by the curse, Severus returned into the recesses of his home, planning to never open the door to a stranger again. But over the next three days the Manor fell into shadow. Though the skies became blue once more, and the sun made a much-wanted appearance, a darkness hovered over the Snape home as ominous as a coming storm. The plants in the gardens withered and died, and the house elves could do nothing to revive them.

Then Snape found that his own appearance had changed. Worry lines began to form between his eyebrows and his eyes had darkened from an icy blue to a bottomless black. His once straight nose became kinked as if it had been broken many times and never repaired, and his once shiny, vibrant hair became lank and greasy: nothing he did would change its appearance.

He stopped in his entryway and stared into the mirror, leaning against the wall and gazing into his own eyes. As a new professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he knew he should be intimidating. But his new appearance, he was afraid, might invoke a feeling in his students that he wasn't so used to conjuring: one of pity.

His looks humbled him and he began to allow the light of the other side shine into his life. But that lifted none of his burden. His colleagues, people that he could almost consider friends, regarded him not in loathing but in sympathy, as he had feared. He hated it, and he wanted to look like his former self again.

Now, as his fortieth birthday quickly approached, thoughts from the years echoed in his mind and haunted his dreams. The mirrors were cruel and the students were even crueler. He was not going to spend his adult years as the object of mercy, the form in which he had spent his childhood.

But how, he wondered, could anyone come to love a beast?

* * *

A/N: Quick note to my fans. If you would like to vote for any of my fiction, you can do it at (search for Wonk. Also a great place to find tons of HG/SS fics), and at (under the same screen name. Usually, my fiction is up at LnLS before ).

Reviews are appreciated, even if there's not much of a story yet!


	2. Beast of Secrets

**Chapter One**

"Good morning," Hermione Granger said as she sat down to breakfast with her best friends Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

"You're too cheerful in the morning," Ron complained, yawning deeply into his plate of scrambled eggs and fried toast. He looked as though he had just woken up. There were pronounced bags under his eyes and his hair looked as though it had been severely tousled by a freak hurricane. "How can you be so awake when we had an astronomy exam last night? We were up there forever."

Hermione just shrugged and took a book out of her bag, figuring that a grumpy Ron and a Harry who had already fallen asleep, by the looks of it, wouldn't make the best company. She was proved correct as Ron ate the rest of his breakfast in silence and Neville Longbottom joined Harry in slumber land.

Hermione smiled secretly to herself, flipping quickly through the pages of the novel. There were times when a Time Turner, stolen back from McGonagall's desk, came in handy. The coast of the lake also proved to be a quite nice place to nap early in the morning.

Her classes, however, were driving her mad. She didn't see how it was possible that her seventh year would be easier than the rest, _or_ how she would practically learn nothing if she didn't do the homework. Lessons usually ended up revolving around the Final Battle with Voldemort, which Harry, with an ever inflated ego of the likes that even Malfoy had never exhibited, had grown to call "a mere scuffle". Somewhat against her will, Hermione began to pour over books from the N.E.W.T.s recommended reading list, especially during class and particularly during the umpteenth, oh-so-embellished telling of Harry's last face-off with Tom Riddle. Harry had told her in secret that he was glad that his scar was gone. Hermione didn't believe him. Nor did she really care.

She had more important things to worry about. N.E.W.T.s, which were coming in less than a month, for one. Everything else, for another.

The only two that seemed to share her opinion on the hackneyed tale were, by no surprise, Draco Malfoy and Professor Snape. The remaining Slytherins at Hogwarts either were awed by Potter - a feat not deemed possible before the war - or just couldn't articulate anything otherwise. Even Goyle, Draco's only remaining sidekick, seemed to have developed a slight admiration for Harry.

Yes, Hermione loved him, but, to tell the truth, he had developed a nasty habit of grating on her nerves. She preferred it when he was back to his old self, the Harry he had been before Cedric died, or how he was currently: asleep.

She took a quick glance at her timetable and nudged Harry in the ribs. "Come on, you two." Ron snorted into the remains of his breakfast. "Charms is first class. Then we have double Potions after lunch."

They both groaned in unison.

Hermione just sniffed and shoved a frizzy curl behind her ear. "Potions is the only class I look forward to, anymore. At least we actually learn something."

The morning passed in a dull haze, exactly as Hermione had expected. She felt so brain-dead that she left lunch early and arrived in the dungeon fifteen minutes before class was to start, breathing a deep sigh of relief as she spotted the cauldrons set up on each table.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione jumped, startled. She hadn't even noticed that Snape was there. But there he was, sitting behind his desk with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her over the severe hook of his nose.

"May I ask what you are doing in class so early?"

Hermione shrugged, feeling her face begin to burn. "I-I had nothing to do, Professor. I thought that I might get a start before the rest of the class came in."

"You thought incorrectly, then," he said immediately after she finished, almost interrupting her. "I will not have you finishing early in class and disrupting the other students."

"But, sir-"

"Yes, you will, Miss Granger." Hermione suddenly had the familiar thought that he could read minds. Which was actually true, but she would know if he was reading hers. It would be obvious. Wouldn't it? "Now please leave until lunch hour is over, and return with your classmates."

Hermione sighed and dipped her head. "Yes, sir." She began to walk toward the door, but stopped herself. "Professor…" she turned around and Snape looked up from his desk, the familiar sneer pasted across his face. His black eyes glittered in the torchlight and his features seemed to be soft and malicious at the same time. "Is something wrong? I would think you would be happy…after all that's happened."

"Everything takes time, Hermione," he said sullenly, turning away. "It is none of your business, anyway. I suggest that you leave now. I will see you in class."

§

She knew that he disliked her. He always had, and she was certain that he always would. Despite the fact that their brief stay at number 12 Grimmauld Place had brought them to familiar terms, it was still obvious that there was something about her that rubbed him the wrong way. He rarely called her Hermione, it had only been three or four times, now, and none of the occasions had been a happy one.

As she returned to the Great Hall she couldn't suppress the nagging feeling that something was wrong. However, the feeling vanished when the cold cordiality of the Potions classroom reappeared, and with it Snape's disregard for her want of good marks.

"Miss Granger, please stop doddling. You are falling behind. Perhaps I should have allowed you to start early just so you wouldn't keep me here an hour after everyone else has left."

"Miss Granger, would you please pay attention to the time. If you put one more ingredient in late again, I will be forced to fail you." With a sardonic smirk that twisted the corner of his mouth, "Much to my displeasure."

Each comment was barely a whisper on his passing, and each one caused her ears to redden and her focus to slip away from what he had suggested. Instead, she kept imagining throwing the cauldron at his head and watching happily as he screamed in pain and crumpled in a heap on the floor. _Well,_ she thought. _At least I'm learning…somewhat_.

Snape gave his typical seventh year speech as the end of class approached: generally, how disappointed he was in their results and a threat to repeat the potion next class. Unknowingly, Hermione was mouthing along with his words, never missing a beat.

And he saw her.

"Miss Granger, stay after class. Everyone else may leave."

A few people sniggered as they walked past. Ron and Harry gave her puzzled expressions, and Ron threw her a note that said one word: "escape", but she just sat there as the rest of the students filed out and left her to her doom.

All too soon, the door shut and Hermione was left alone with Professor Snape in his classroom. He stood in front of her, towering above her seated position, with his shoulders drawn straight in a pride she thought he too often possessed. There was so thick of a silence that an infant's sigh would be audible, a whisper deafening.

When he spoke, his smooth voice was tangled with an anger that Hermione had heard much too often in her short time in his presence, and never heard used toward her.

"Do you find something amusing in the failure of your classmates, Miss Granger?"

Ice and venom. Hermione shivered, convinced that she could see her breath in the air, fading into the shadows of the classroom that so cleanly melted into Snape's dark figure.

"No, Professor," she said quietly, her eyes falling to her lap to gaze at her hands: so tightly woven together that the knuckles had been bleached white. Her thumbs stroked each other absently, trying to rub warmth into her skin where it was not possible. With who it was not possible.

"Then what possessed you to mock me, may I ask?" For some reason, she could not gather the courage to meet his eyes. Her hands were neither beautiful nor interesting, and the resentment in his pitch seemed to be something that would draw her gaze, not repel it. "The careless mouthing of my chagrin. Is it something I do to entertain, rather than ingrain an understanding in my students' minds?"

"No, sir." She swallowed. Her saliva tasted like a mixture of blood and bile. "I apologize. I did not mean to."

"Many of the worst things in life are done without the knowledge that one is doing them," he replied, turning around so she was safe to look up, eyes snagged in the linen of his robes rather than the trap of his ruthless eyes. She bit her tongue to hold back the accusation of his use of a false analogy. Mouthing his words mistakenly during class was incomparable to, say, accidentally causing the end of the world. Well, of course, the two might have been synonymous in his mind.

"This has gone too far," he continued, hands grasping each other behind his back. "I will not be mocked in my classroom, nor talked to by a student as if I were an acquaintance, a friend. Especially by a _Gryffindor_." He spat the word like a curse, and Hermione felt the hair bristle on the back of her neck as he turned back around. However, her eyes did not fall. "Careless disregard for the rules, inattention during class…should be enough."

Hermione swallowed convulsively. "Enough for what?"

"To expel you from my class."

Hermione shot to her feet, knocking one of her books to the floor. He cocked an eyebrow at her as if to say 'see what I mean?' but she ignored him. All the blood raced to her face, and she felt as if her body was alight with tortuous flames.

"What do you mean expel me from you class?" She picked the book up from the floor and threw it back on the table. It slid to the edge and tipped dangerously before settling back into a comfortable position on the tabletop.

"Exactly what I said, Miss Granger." A smirk had sprung to life on his face again, alighting it with his famous sadistic glow. His loathing for her was almost palpable. "Do you need me to define the words for you?"

"You can't do this!"

"I believe I can. It is my class and I can do what I please. And with the evidence I am given, I believe that I have more than the grounds to expel you completely from school, if not just from Potions."

He lifted his hand and Hermione stumbled back, stricken with disbelief. A thin silver chain was interwoven between his long, pale fingers, and dangling from the center was a tiny hourglass, the sand resting undisturbed on the bottom, and it gleamed dimly in the torchlight. Almost cheerfully, as though it wasn't aware of the scene around it, as though the hand that held it was still the soft, feminine one of Hermione Granger and not the spidery fingers of Severus Snape.

"Where-where did you get that?" Hermione asked, ashen-faced. Her bag, she had put it in her bag. She had been careless, just slipped it in there with her books and schoolwork. He wouldn't have found it unless he rummaged in there. Unless…

The book. He gazed at it thoughtfully before sliding it back to her across the table. She put it back in her rucksack, pretending that this wasn't really happening, pulling a charade in which she was not in trouble. The chain had slipped between the pages of her book, the one she had dropped and set on the table. He was right, she was being careless…

"If you leave this classroom…" Snape began the proposal like he was making a deal with the devil rather than a young, despondent woman. He leaned forward slightly, letting his shadow loom across her bushy-haired head. "Without complaining to anyone, including me, I will destroy your little secret and not share anything about it with Professors McGonagall or Dumbledore."

"But what about N.E.W.T.s…" Hermione asked, her voice choked. He stared at her with as much of a lack of sympathy as she thought possible, and fresh tears began to spring to her eyes.

"That's simple enough. You simply will not take it, and it will not harm your final scores. However, you will receive an incomplete for this class."

"But-"

He dangled the tiny charm, the Time Turner, over her head. He mocked her, and deliberately. "I would think that I am doing you a favor, really. I expect more gratitude than this."

She climbed to her feet and shoved everything she owned into her bag, not saying a word as silent tears spilled from her eyes. He had backed toward his desk, leaning against it casually with his feet crossed in front of him. She refused to meet his eyes.

"I won't come back," she said determinedly. Her voice had lost the edge, and the conviction in her tone was held back by a strangled sob. "I suppose you're happy to hear that."

"Not as much as you might think."

Hermione ignored his answer, determining it was best to not hear the words that she didn't understand. She flung her bag, which looked as if it was nearing its bursting point, over her shoulder and started for the door.

"Have a pleasant life, Miss Granger," he said quickly, passing the Time Turner between his fingers.

"You're a monster." The door slammed shut behind her and the torchlight flickered in her wake.

He was left there in the silence, alone with the putrid ghosts of botched potions mingling with the sour smell of rust. Snape tossed the hourglass on his desk and it rolled across the paper, tinkling lightly as it fell to the wooden surface and stopped as its chain caught on a discarded quill.

He let out a sigh and again entwined the silver in his fingers, drawing the bit of cold glass up into the hard warmth of his palm. "Yes, Hermione," he whispered, gazing at the keeper of time, an object so small that could change so much. That could save him from himself. "I know." 

§§§

Phew.

Thanks to: StuntChini (Great! I'm glad I've attracted someone who's not an SS/HG fan, it's a hard thing to do without getting flames :)), Akasha Ravensong (:)), Kailin, krisleigh, xxGinnyxx, and Anarane Anwamane for reviewing. 


	3. Solution

Chapter Two

Hermione's fury lasted through the rest of her seventh year. NEWTs came and went, classes ended, the halls were full of crying and hugging students, but she remained oblivious to it all. Harry and Ron had begun to avoid her, and even Crookshanks seemed to stay out of her dorm more than usual. If anyone noticed that she wasn't going to Potions class anymore, no one said anything. The rest of her classes, including the NEWTs, were impossibly easy, yet Hermione still worried about her scores. Had she made any stupid mistakes, skipped any problems accidentally, unwittingly written a History of Magic essay on why she hated Severus Snape rather than the Merpeople uprising of 1788?

Her mind was severely twisted by anger and worry and she spent the majority of her last month at Hogwarts in her room, trying to escape from the over sentimental slop that seemed to drip from the ceiling in the commons. 

On the day of the leaving feast, a letter from her parents only made matters worse.

_Dearest Hermione,_

We are hoping that this reaches you in time. Even after seven years, the Owl Post is still a bit new to us.

Your father and I just wanted to write to you and tell you how very proud we are of you. You've exceeded our expectations since your birth and we know you will always continue to do so. The only thing we regret about the past seven years is that you have not been home, and we have not gotten to see you nearly as much as we would have liked. But it helped to ease our troubled minds to know that you are happy at Hogwarts, and you are safe (and in the company of the handsome Weasley fellow. Are you two still an item? If so, don't tell your dad. He's still a bit uppity about how Krum dumped you.)

Also, what is on the front for the news about your future? Last time you told us anything about it, you informed us that you wanted to do some research for the use of medical Potions. Is that still your plan?

I suppose that you do not need to reply, we will talk to you when you arrive tomorrow afternoon. Enjoy your last day of school, and we look forward to seeing you.

Love,  
Mum and Dad

She was at a loss at deciding what annoyed her more: her mother's assumption that she and Ron had been, and possibly still were, a so-called "item", the callous mention of her break up with Krum, or the fact that she no longer had any clue what she was going to do now that she was graduating. Medicinal Potion making was no longer an option; she had received an incomplete in the class and hadn't been given the opportunity to take the NEWT. Any other career that had ever appealed to her had one thing in common: they required high marks on the Potions NEWT.

In short, Severus Snape had ruined her life.

When Ron came to her room to visit her, hoping that she might be in a better mood, his hopes were quickly tossed down the stairs with the first words that came out of her mouth.

He knocked softly on the door.

"Who is it?" Her voice was strained, and he heard a soft _thunk_ from inside followed by an irritated hiss from Crookshanks.

"Ron."

"Oh." She made no effort to mask her disappointment. "Come in, it's open."

He slowly opened the door, only to have it jerked back by an escaping ginger cat. Hermione sat on her bed, her trunk open at her feet, with clothing, paper, and what looked like the whole of the school library surrounding her. She was rolling up a poster of what appeared to be Albus Dumbledore reading a book and finished by securing it with a poke of her wand.

Ron stood in the doorway, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his robes and hiding the reddening tips of his ears with his shoulders. "Is something wrong, Hermione?"

"No." Ron jumped as Hermione dropped a very heavy tome into her trunk. "Nothing."

"Oh come on, I've been friends with you long enough to tell that when a girl says "nothing", it's usually everything."

"Well aren't you the perceptive one." She continued making loud, disturbing noises as she carelessly dropped everything into her trunk.

Ron frowned and edged forward carefully, afraid that she might think that he, instead, might be a better container to pack her things in. 

"This has something to do with Snape, doesn't it?" he asked, crossing his arms across his chest. "You haven't been normal since he kept you after class. And you didn't even show up for NEWTs! I almost had a heart attack."

She didn't answer his question and continued to pack her things. "You can help me, you know."

He groaned and edged down beside her, beginning to fold clothes and put them chaotically in her trunk. 

"Ron." A hint of a growl had edged into her voice, suddenly reminding him of Snape. Disturbing. "You can do better than that."

He shrugged. "Not like you are."

"You're already packed?"

"Yep."

"Here." She shoved a letter into his hands. It was folded and crumpled badly, and it looked as though Hermione might have held it near the fire. He stared at it, squinting, trying to make out the faint pencil lines. Hermione stared at him expectantly as he read, and he could feel her eyes burning holes in the back of his hands.

He finally looked up, after Hermione had been able to read over it five more times, and looked as though he was trying to hold back a secretive smile. "Your mum thinks I'm handsome?"

She grabbed the letter from his hands in a flourish and threw it in the trunk, tossing a shirt over it. "Oh, honestly!"

Ron picked up one of her bras and blushed a bright red. She snatched that from his hands also and threw it in, not looking as embarrassed as he felt. "Just a question," he muttered. "How can you do research in medicinal Potions if you didn't take the NEWT?"

"Yes, that seems to be the problem, doesn't it?"

"What happened?"

A side swept glare left Ron feeling that he probably shouldn't have asked. "Nothing…I'll figure it out eventually. I would kind of like to spend some time alone right now, if that's all right." 

Ron flung another bra into the trunk and climbed to his feet, sighing. "You've spent the entire last month and a half alone. Don't you want to be with your friends?"

"No, not particularly."

Ron let out another sigh and lifted his arms in surrender. "Fine! Whatever you say, your honor." He rolled his eyes and started for the door. Before he stepped outside he whipped around and pointed an accusing finger at her. "But you're coming to the Burrow for at least a week this summer." She opened her mouth to protest but he stopped her with an outstretched hand. "No excuses."

Hermione grumbled as he left and continued to pack her belongings into her trunk, not wanting to but also getting rather tired of being in this place. At _school_. The thought was a foreign one. For her entire life, school was something she loved, something she looked forward to, and one greasy git had ruined it completely for her. She didn't want to go home, because her parents - her mother, particularly - would find it overly amusing to tackle her half to death with question she didn't know the answers to. All she wanted to do was be left alone, which also was not a possibility as she couldn't get a job and she doubted her parents would support her decision to move out of their house right after school. 

She left out her clothes for the next day and her pajamas for the night and laid them on the sofa against the wall of her room. Her trunk clanked shut and flew to the end of her bed at her bidding, prepared for the long train ride the next day. She was itching to Apparate, she had had her license for almost a year and had hardly any opportunity to use it, but the train ride was customary and her parents would be waiting for her at King's Cross.

She collapsed on her bed and took a deep breath, mind clearing into a complete blank. She just didn't know anymore.

There was only one solution. She had to talk to Dumbledore.

§

Hermione watched as a dark strain of tea freed itself from the pot and splashed into the delicate china cup. A few overzealous drops escaped the stream and fell to the table, only to be swept up later by wrinkled, shaking fingers and absorbed into the chapped skin.

"Please calm down, Miss Granger," Dumbledore told her, pushing the cup toward her. She stared at him for a minute, almost as if she thought him untrustworthy, but took the cup and held it to her lips. He looked older, she decided. Older than he had been during Voldemort's return. She had thought that he would somehow regenerate after His final death, but it seemed he had instead done the opposite and deteriorated beyond repair. His hands visibly shook now, and his voice was not as strong and attention-seeking as it had once been. It was dry with the sporadic tumble of a cough. But his bright eyes still remained, the single heir of his aging self, his signature twinkle in place, unmoved. 

Hermione tapped on the sides of the teacup, staring determinedly at the desk with uplifted eyebrows and her lips pursed in irritation. "I don't know how to calm down. I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Do for what, my dear?" He twisted the end of his beard around a long, pale finger, leaning back in his chair. "What has gotten you so angry? This is your last day at Hogwarts, you should be with your friends, not sitting in the Headmaster's office."

"That's not a possibility. Ron spends his whole time practicing…for Quidditch, of course."

"Ah, yes. He was taken in by the Chudley Cannons, correct?"

"Sort of." Hermione shrugged and set the teacup on the table, figuring that if she kept fiddling with it she'd end up spilling the remains of the contents down the front of her robes and, most likely, some of it would end up in the mass of her hair. "He's a trainer. They're going to work him incredibly hard before he actually gets to play. It will be a few years."

"Well, good for him. And Harry's starting at the Ministry?"

Hermione couldn't hold back the yowl that sounded remarkably like Crookshanks. "Yes, a bit ironic, isn't it?"

Dumbledore smirked. "Just a bit. Maybe he can straighten Fudge out."

"I doubt it. I don't think he's in a high enough position yet to even lick his boots. At least in Fudge's mind." Seeing the puzzled look on Dumbledore's face, Hermione added, "He's a delightful old codger, isn't he?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Oh, yes. I agree completely."

Hermione's smile faded and she picked up the teacup again, desperate for something to do with her hands. "That's the problem. Everyone knows what they are going to do. Except me."

"That's not true. Weren't you planning to do some research on…what was it, Potions?"

She swallowed and ran her tongue across her teeth, trying to bring moisture back into her mouth. "Yes, that was the plan. But it has since become an impossibility."

The Headmaster cocked his head to the side. "Why?" A look from the girl confirmed what he had suspected. He had been walking with Severus once when they had passed by her in the corridor, and the glance between the two made him feel as if he had just dove into a ghost. "Ah, Severus was giving you trouble."

"Just a bit." Dumbledore noticed that her mood was darkening progressively. He wasn't doing what he had hoped. "It's my fault really. I was being an idiot."

"I find that quite hard to believe."

"Well, that's Snape for you," she shot back, rolling her eyes. Dumbledore chose to ignore the disrespectfulness of her tone. "I was the biggest imbecile in his class, as far as he was concerned, even though I received the best marks and was usually the only one who knew what she was doing."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I always thought he was rather fond of you."

Hermione snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure I was his favorite imbecile."

Dumbledore sighed and laced his fingers across his stomach, beginning to twiddle his thumbs. "Is that truly why you came here, though, Miss Granger? To complain about our dearly beloved Potions master?"

"Not necessarily. I was wondering if you could…" The request was a painful blow. She could already feel it eating away the top layer of her pride. "…if you could possibly employ me. Temporarily, of course, just so I can have a room and some food to eat…"

His eyes narrowed in concern. "Has something happened at home, Hermione?"

"No, no, nothing like that." She paused as Dumbledore gave an audible sigh of relief. "I would just like to improve on my education for a time after Hogwarts, and that's not possible at home…with Muggles. I love my parents dearly, but they're not the type that would help my magic flourish." He nodded in understanding. "And I enjoy solitude. I barely have time to read at home…all the outings…" she gave him a hint of a smile. "…all the chores. I hate to admit it, but sometimes I'm glad that Hogwarts has house elves."

"It sounds like it could work," he replied thoughtfully, leaning back toward her and ignoring her admittance that worked against all her previous beliefs on her dear house elves. "How about this: I'll talk to a few of the staff members, Minerva, Poppy, possibly Sybill," He ignored Hermione's flinch. "and I'll talk to you tomorrow morning and tell you what you could do."

Hermione smiled in relief. "That would be wonderful." Well, it would be, as long as she wasn't stuck dusting crystal balls and could stay as far away from Snape as long as possible. It shouldn't be too hard, as long as she kept out of the dungeons. She knew where he lurked and she knew what places to avoid.

She went back to her room in a new type of euphoria. She felt independent, free, with new thoughts of a teaching career roaming in her mind. Would Dumbledore ever let her be a Professor, even if she didn't have a NEWT in Potions? She had to admit, being a Professor wouldn't be that bad. Not her top choice, but definitely not her bottom one, either.

The rest of the night passed smoothly and she even allowed herself to sniffle a bit at the Leaving Feast. She tried to ignore Harry's wide grin and elation over her change of behavior, but it didn't work very well. She was even able to tolerate Ron's kiss (a bit over-friendly) when he walked her back to her dorms. Even Crookshanks couldn't bother her, tonight.

She had expected to see him curled up on her pillow, waiting for her return with one open eye. But he wasn't on her bed, and she couldn't hear any random purr or whimper of a dream anywhere in the shadows.

Then she heard it. A growl. Something large and ginger colored was pacing in front of the window, head turned upward to the closed glass. It was pitch black outside, the stars blanketed by thick, dark clouds. 

"What is it, Crooks?"

The cat's bottlebrush tale twitched in agitation and his ears were laid back on his head, an expression that made Hermione nervous. Crookshanks was intelligent, she knew that, and when he sensed that something was wrong, odds were that something was wrong.

Hesitantly, she opened the window and jumped back as something large and black flew in, brushing the curtains and her hair with a gentle sweep of its midnight wings. It was a monstrously large raven, and it squawked noisily and found a landing place on a lamppost next to Hermione's bed, obviously pleased that it was out of the reach of Crookshanks. Hermione was caught in a stare down with its intense yellow eyes before she noticed it had something tied to its leg.

"Oh." The cat gave an irritated yowl as she carefully approached the bird and untied the neatly folded parchment from its foot. It gave her a glare that made her feel as if she was being looked through and immediately swept through the window, disappearing into the night. Hermione unfolded the parchment carefully, fingers shaking. "Who on earth is this from…and who would own a raven instead of an owl? Probably someone with a beastly ego…"

Crookshanks leapt on the bed and leaned against her in a plea for attention. She gave his head an absent pat as he still watched the open window, waiting for the ugly intruder's return. He didn't notice Hermione's mouth fall open as she read it, then read it again in disbelief. Her fingers traced the lettering, noticing how disconcertingly familiar it looked.

She read it aloud in a whisper, as if making her cat listen to it would make it less true.

"'Dear Miss Granger'," she said, her voice dry. "'Please meet me in my office at 11pm. And be on time, I will not tolerate tardiness. Professor Snape.' What on earth…"

Crookshanks just butted her hand for attention, obviously undisturbed by the note. Hermione glanced at the clock and noticed that it was 10:50, and it would be better for her to leave soon if she didn't want to experience his wrath for one final time. She shrugged a cloak off her shoulders and ignored Crookshanks as he batted her feet, annoyed that she was leaving. As she left her room, one final thought kept recycling in her head: "Why in Merlin's name would Severus Snape want to see me on my graduation night?"

§§§

Thanks to: Joshua Glass (mmm, crescent roll), c[R]ud[E]dly (wow, you don't like fairy tales? Weird, I've grown up obsessed with them. Thank you for your kind review, considering :)), Aurorablue, cookiesNcreme03 (wow, just from the prologue? Hope it sticks with what you'll see (hear about?) later), Anarane Anwamane, krisleigh, aNNiiesNapez, KDarkMaiden, Moon Assassin 13, Yenne Loreana, Zephyre (I think Snape really does have a melodramatic soul), Meriadoc / Celithrathien (one of the reasons I like Hermione so much...she's me. I'm very relieved that my portrayal of her is accurate in your eyes. And with Snape...don't worry, he's not planning on calling her by her first name again), Lacewing (erm...hope the story gets better or Hermione's situation? Lol), Dues Ex (M'dear, do you like the SS/HG ship or not? Lol, your idea on it seems to be swinging around quite a lot. You also must remember that Wonk likes older men :). By the way, I'm going to keep the title. It fits in with the last story and it kind of already stuck. Cheers), Valerie, Bambu (I've never seen the French version, though I have seen the Disney one in French :). I think I'm going to be slightly following along the lines of the Disney version (a rare Disney film in which I could find very few faults), because I love it dearly. Il est neccessaire que je lit/vois "La Belle et la Bette", aussi.), and Akasha Ravensong (they're better bad, aren't they? Mmm...). 

Extra, **extra** thanks to my new beta, Saskia. Find her at fanfiction.net/~laiagarien


	4. An Odd Proposal

Chapter Three

"This doesn't make any sense."

"No, it doesn't, does it?"

Hermione had seated herself in the chair in front of Snape's desk, crossing her legs into her robes with her arms across her chest, taking on the position of an insolent child. She was very cold, and, for the most part, disbelieving. 

"Why would you invite me to be tutored privately by you during the summer holiday when you were the one that expelled me from your class in the first place?"

"I'm still trying to figure out that one myself, Granger." Snape stood behind his desk, for some reason refusing to sit down. He, too, had his arms folded across his chest, mocking her manner from the waist up. His fingers treaded lightly across his arms, denting detail into his robe, a different position of light, under each tap. 

Hermione examined him with narrowed eyes, searching for something to condemn. "No you're not. You would never do anything without a reason for doing it. I know you too well."

"Do you?"

"Your personality may be complex, but your human instincts are the same as everyone else's, Professor."

"If you know me so well, then tell me this. What is the reason that I am giving you this opportunity? Guilt?"

He finally sat down and leaned closer to her, so close she could smell his breath. It was not so unpleasant, but his teeth could do well with a whitening job and maybe a few years of braces. Hermione had a beautiful picture in the back of her mind of handing this impossible man, this dark beast, over to her parents and letting him suffer under the drill, and without the anesthesia.

"No." Her voice had fallen to a harsh whisper and her elbows rocked to the table, palms supporting her chin. "Only under the rarest circumstances do you feel guilty."

"I assure you that there is no biography in the school library about me, Granger. It is impossible for you to know everything about me."

"I know you well enough. I lived in the same house as you for a majority of the summer. Whether you like it or not, I still know you a lot more than I'd actually prefer."

He frowned and tented his fingers over the crooked bridge of his nose. "Have I not changed?" 

Hermione closed one eye, as if observing him in one dimension would allow a more accurate view of internal differences. His black gaze cut into her own eyes ruthlessly, and she felt as if her retinas were being torn apart. 

"Not as much as you should have," she answered quietly. " It's like a part of you hasn't realized that you can be yourself again."

"What does it matter?" He was on his feet again and the chair he had been sitting in was thrown off to the side. Hermione sat straight up in her own, startled, and stared at him wide-eyed, apparently afraid that he would do the same thing to her. "I don't matter right now. What's important is your education."

Hermione couldn't cut the bitter tone out of her voice. "Oh, so only right _now_ is it important."

He sniffed. "Yes, actually. And if you would like the offer to remain, I suggest that you use a more respectful tone with me. I am still your professor."

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked to the side, changing her focus to what looked like a baby pig floating in a gray-green slime. Her stomach grumbled in disgust. "You haven't been my professor for a month and half, since you kicked me out of your class."

"Do you want to take the NEWT or not, Granger?"

She turned back to him, and he could see a rim of wetness forming on the bottom of her eyes. She stared at him furiously, but her features softened as she took in what he had said. "What?" 

"The NEWT. Don't tell me that you've already forgotten what it is."

She scoffed and rubbed a hand across her eyes, suppressing a yawn. It was growing incredibly late, and she had to be up reasonably early the next day. "Of course I know what it is. I could honestly take it after summer?"

"Yes, they have one test session that allows students who were not able to take the test the first time, for various circumstances, to take it. It might be more difficult, but I believe that you would-" He cut himself off, fortunately catching a compliment before it was able to slip through his careless lips. Instead, he resolved with, "You might be able to pass." 

"Where would I stay while you're tutoring me? At Hogwarts?"

Snape snorted. "You do not expect me to spend my holiday at Hogwarts, do you? Granted, the halls would not be filled with the little brats, but there's still the imposing doom of running into someone like Sybill Trelawney every time I choose to wander somewhere."

"But she doesn't ever come out of her tower," Hermione answered sulkily, mind not completely focused on what he was saying. Her mind was turned toward where she would live…if he was suggesting that she would live with him, he was out of his mind.

"She enjoys the sun." Severus groaned. "Take my word, you do not want to see her sunbathing in the summer."

Hermione shuddered and Severus pushed onward, desperate to push past what had almost been a friendly moment onto another matter. "I will be staying at my Manor. It's in the Lake District near Windemere. Quite a bit of rain, small population, mostly Wizarding. There are a few Muggles, and no tourists. Does that appeal to you at all?"

Hermione was unnerved by his promise of isolation. This was beginning to sound like a worse idea every moment, but Severus Snape held the key to her future. And he dangled it in front of her like she was a trick dog, standing on her hindquarters and reaching for the hard-earned treat that was just out of reach of her starved jaws.

"Not really." _No one would be able to hear me scream_.

"Good." He didn't hear Hermione's growl of apprehension and continued onward, sounding more long-winded than Dumbledore. "Don't expect to have much free time, you'll be working for most of it." Hermione thought that was fine, as long as he left her alone. "And keep out of contact with the house elves as long as possible. They're not quite…healthy."

"Professor, couldn't this wait until I arrive?" There was no disrespect in her tone, only a slight whiny note that reminded Severus of how late it was becoming. "I need to talk to my parents before I decide anything. May I owl you when I arrive home?"

He gazed at her reproachfully from the corner of his eye. "Very well. I will be here until the thirtieth. If I do not receive a response by that day, I will assume that you are not coming."

Hermione nodded and climbed to her feet. She was off-balance but he did not seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care. "Thank you, sir," she mumbled, starting to make her way for the door.

"Save your thanks, Granger," he retorted as she began to close it, slowing its progress with an unsteady hand. "You will be regretting it once you begin work as my student once again."

Hermione shook her head and closed the door, hugging herself for warmth as she walked down the deserted corridor. Her last time in the dungeons, she thought. How odd that it would be now, that her life at Hogwarts was over.

And what on earth was in this for him?

* * *

Thanks to: Joshua Glass (*grins* something, indeed), Lacewing (I figured that Hermione is the kind of person who has to accept what she's been given (it was kind of her fault), and tried to look for the best way to improve it. So instead of having her sitting around whining for the rest of her life, I decided that she should probably get a job. Good choice? Of course...it doesn't matter anymore :) ), Miyu-DeSang (I'm glad you understand it now, it sometimes helps to re-read things. Thanks for reviewing), Dues Ex (hehe, down boy. You have it worse than my crush on Snape. Or Viggo Mortensen. Actually...no, you don't. I seriously wished that I had known that Viggo was in Seattle so I could stalk him. I missed him :( ), c[R]ud[E]dly (Hm, I have a beta now so their shouldn't be. She wouldn't miss them :). B&tB is my favorite fairy tale, it rocks), Anarane Anwamane, Chibidaima (oh yes, it will), Who cares what my name is, StuntChini (ooh! Hope! :D), Akasha Ravensong (perhaps just him, I've never met any real person like him. Unfortunately), and krisleigh.

And, of course, thanks to my beta Laia, who is now going on vacation. If you find any errors in the next few chapters, it's not her fault, it's mine.


	5. The Arrival

A/N: I would have uploaded this ages ago, but ff.net was on the fritz. My apologies and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Chapter Four**

Hermione was weighed down with bags, suitcases, and her cat's cage, but Snape made no move to relieve her of her load. He just remarked that she should have performed a shrinking charm, when she told him that she had. He just rolled his eyes and still refused to help. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, she dropped her bags on the thickly carpeted floor of his private quarters, looking around with mild interest. The living room was rather unremarkable, dressed in black, gray, and dark green, with only a few sofas and a marble fireplace to make it seem livable.

She was slightly disappointed; she had not expected the rooms of the most mysterious person at Hogwarts to be so…bland. Fortunately, the Manor sounded a bit more promising, even if the name did have a depressing ring to it. 

For a warm summer day at the end of June, the room made it feel as if it was the middle of winter. She absently wished that she had worn a jacket, while the Professor looked quite warm (and smug) in his traditional school robes with a black cape tied around his shoulders. 

"Are you ready to go, Miss Granger?" Snape asked, taking a silver chalice off of the mantle of the fireplace and holding it toward her. 

She took a handful of Floo Powder and looked at him expectantly. "Actually, no, I think I forgot something."

Severus looked at her bags with an uplifted brow. "Surely you're joking."

"Actually, yes." She swirled the dust around in her palm. "So, tell me where we're going again, just so I don't end up on a different side of the country from you."

Snape let out a sigh that immediately pricked at Hermione's nerves. "Reynold house, the home of my groundskeeper. We'll take a carriage from there. There's no Floo access into my house, and it is warded against Apparation. All in safety, of course. "

"Of course," Hermione grumbled, slinging her bags up to the crooks of her arms once again and wondering if she would be able to fit into the fireplace. "You have no idea how much I hate to ask, but would you mind taking Crookshanks's cage? I don't want to drop him."

Snape stabbed a thumb in the carrier's direction, bemused. "I suppose you mean that thing. What's its name, did you say? Crookshanks?"

"Yes, and please do take him. He wouldn't be very happy with me if I dropped him at the grate of some random home."

The corner of Snape's lip twitched downward, and Hermione suppressed the want to ask him if he had some sort of facial spasm. Her lower back was beginning to ache terribly, and the fire that had been lit had warmed her quickly past comfortable to over-heated. 

"Really, I thought he'd be thrilled to escape his owner." Snape overcame his obvious reluctance and took the carrier from her hand, holding it out in front of him as if it was a soiled diaper. 

"He's not diseased, Professor."

"And you can prove this to me…how?"

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh. "Okay, I'm going. If you don't show up in two minutes, I'm coming back and hexing you."

"Hold your tongue, girl. I'm doing you a favor."

"So you keep telling me." With another reluctant groan, Hermione tossed the Floo Powder into the fireplace and the flames leapt up, burning an emerald green. They licked the corners of the marble, resembling squirming snakes trying to slither up from the fire to the mantelpiece and touch the marble with forked tongues. Little black beads of empty space glistened at the top of each flame, resembling two bleak eyes. Severus must have made the Powder himself.

"Reynold house," She said clearly, tasting a dusting of ash as she stepped into the fireplace. The flames tickled at her feet and robes for a second and she tucked her elbows into her body, trying to flatten her bags into herself. Things could be hellish if she got snagged on anything. 

A feeling of queasiness wormed into her stomach as she felt herself spinning past Floo grates and different houses, catching single syllables of conversation and gathering views of hundreds of different colors of stone and brick. As soon as she stumbled out of the fireplace and into the living room of the Reynold house, she dropped her bags to the wooden floor and fell to her knees, clutching her stomach and trying to breath deeply.

Hermione dipped her head beneath her knees and inhaled, trying to steady the swirls of color that raced in front of her eyes and the tiny demons that tugged at the lining of her stomach. She finally decided that Floo was definitely not her favorite way to travel, and she might have preferred Splinching.

A stiff pressure on her shoulder jolted her back to her surroundings, and she heard an irritated hiss from her poor cat as Severus simply dropped the carrier on the ground next to her kneeled form. He neither inquired on if she was all right nor did he give her a hand to help her to her feet. He might be a teacher, Hermione thought, and a Slytherin, but there was no reason why he couldn't be a gentleman. 

"I thought that purebloods were supposed to be chivalrous," she muttered, glaring at the back of his cloaked legs through strands of her bushy hair as she recovered the ability to stand.

He ignored her comment and instead said, "Get up. The carriage is waiting." He walked through the doorway and to the left, apparently opening a door as a fresh, cold breeze swept past where he was standing and into the room, tugging at Hermione's robes and hair. A chill swept down her spine and an owl sitting on a perch in the corner regarded her with a cocked head.

Strangling a frustrated scream, Hermione climbed to her feet and swayed, steadying herself with a grasp onto a weak-legged sofa that seemed to wither under her touch. A low growl came from the carrier on the floor and Hermione took it up with her bags, muttering apologies that the cat thoroughly ignored.

The carriage ride was silent, and so was the driver who sat outside with the horses in the rain-fresh air. The climate was unsettling as well as the quiet, and Snape sat in a corner of the seat and regarded the scar of the Dark Mark on his arm, touching it tenderly as if it was a fresh wound rather than an old memory. Hermione watched him blankly, not daring herself to speak ill or otherwise, in case he decided to forgo his decision and send her back to her parents. 

The carriage jolted over each stone and lump in the road, making her eager to wish that the Professor owned a Muggle vehicle. A bicycle might have even been preferable. But he was old fashioned, from his clothing to his style of life, even if his manners were not. 

With a soft whinny in unison from the deep black horses, the carriage rolled to a stop, rocking back from a stone that had lodged itself in between the road and the edge of a wooden wheel. Hermione brushed the black velvet curtain back and looked out into the world, into the land of Snape Manor.

The gardens…she had been expecting a small courtyard with a few rosebushes and perhaps some wildflowers clinging to high, stone walls. Instead, the land reached on for what appeared to be miles, sprawling into rolling hills and meadows that were tinged a dull green. The day, which had been hot and clear when they left Hogwarts, had turned a bitter, heavy gray that threatened a late afternoon rainfall, and the air had a tenuous chill that seeped through Hermione's robes and pulled on the hairs on her arms, not so much from the cold than from the mystery whence it came. A lingering mist of winter in the middle of the summer teased the senses, sending thoughts rolling on their heels and confusing any logical sense. 

Closer to her, hugging the road and sprawling to waist-high, ancient fences that were similar to those found in pastures, were bushes and plants of every imaginable specie and shade of green, gray and brown. Thorns stood proudly on vines and roots hugged the ground for stability, trying to make sense of this land that seemed to leak poison into the soil. 

It was obvious that the grounds had once been beautiful. Now, however, it seemed that everything was either dead or was dying a long, lingering death. A breeze caught some brown decay of leaves and swirled them mockingly through the branches of what had once been a mighty oak, looking like it was going to put them in their rightful place put dropping them back to the ground. The brittle limbs seemed to sag with disappointment, and the molted blooms of flowers hung their heads to the ground in shame. Hermione's heart swelled with pity and she bit her tongue, not willing to say anything to spite the Potion's Master.

The façade of the manor itself was lost to her as she was at the entrance, unable to see the house in its entirety. But its very stones, as she approached, seemed to swell in self-importance and she had the very odd feeling that the house was larger than she could imagine. Wordlessly, the door opened with a saddened groan and filled the darkened entrance hall with weary light.

The house was old. Very old. The cool breeze through the door made it give loud, wheezing breaths, and its marble and stone bones were strong but ancient. 

The surroundings hung in shadow, the frugal sun only choosing to brighten the particles of dust that had flung into the air.

It was cold.

And dark.

And lonely.

"Lumos," Snape muttered as he threw his cape to the side. Hermione watched as the noble coat rack bent to catch it on its hook, its carved outline gilded in gray from the open door. She shivered.

Suddenly, hundreds upon hundreds of candles lit, filling the massive entrance hall with flickering, almost cheery, light. Flinging her head back, she noticed that the ceiling rose to such impossibly heights that she couldn't see it, and she would have suspected that there was none at all except for the fact that it refused to drizzle in Snape's entrance hall. 

The room was circular and carved completely of white marble edged in silver. A staircase swept before her, dignified and wide, and when its steps reached the wall it hugged the circular form, creating a round balcony that hung over the hall. Above the balcony, the walls seemed to simply…end, even though there appeared to be no ceiling. There was a probability that it was charmed to be bleak and shadowed, somewhat like the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but something made Hermione doubt that.

There were three sets of double doors, all with plaques that held the names of their relative directions, except for the south, which would have been the entrance to the Manor. The north room's doors were open and it looked as though the forgotten sun was shining through, accompanied by wonderful smells that made Hermione's stomach rumble greedily. The hearty scents of roast pork, potatoes, cheese, and mingled with the tang of various fruits, floated through the air and pulled desperately at her nostrils, demanding her attention.

"Hungry, Miss Granger?" Snape asked with a lifted eyebrow, looking pointedly at her stomach. 

She blushed. "A bit."

"Dinner will be served in a half hour. Go change, and I expect you to arrive punctually. Beatrice."

Hermione examined him with an odd look, wondering why on earth he had suddenly called her Beatrice, until she heard a loud cracking noise and a house elf, slightly pink in color and a bit stouter than any she had seen before, appeared before them.

"What is the Master wanting of Beatrice?" she murmured, eyes cast down at the floor and wringing her clothing - a black tea towel - in her hands. "Master, Master, wonderful Master that looks down upon Beatrice with eyes. Eyes…"

Hermione shuddered, suddenly reminded of the treasonous house elf Kreacher that had been a contributor to Sirius's death. She shot a weary glance at Snape, but he didn't take a moment to look at her. 

"Beatrice, please lead Miss Granger to the guest rooms in the upper east wing. Make sure she is settled and then tell the others of her arrival. I will not have her imposed upon while she is a guest here."

"Yes, yes, whatever the Master says. Is there anything else the Master wants?"

"That will be all." He glanced at a clock that was mounted against the wall, and looked like it was made of pure gold, and pursed his lips. "Miss Granger, I will meet you here in twenty-eight minutes. I will see you then." He swept across the room and exited through the West door, the black trail of his robes the last sign of him before he disappeared.

"Miss must follow Beatrice," the elf said, slapping her bony hand on her leg and beginning slowly up the stairs. Hermione picked up her bags (with the thoughts that unhelpfulness must be a disease in the Snape household) and followed the tiny thing up the stairs, not finding it too hard to slow her pace in her ebbing energy. 

Crookshanks was actually quiet. Hermione managed to sneak a view of him to make sure that he was still awake and…erm…alive, but he just stared at her with yellow eyes, obviously fine, though the position of his ears made it quite clear that he wasn't very happy to have been caged up for so long.

They took the left partition of the stairway and soon passed into a darkened corridor, and Hermione suddenly had the odd feeling that she was back at Hogwarts. Medieval suits of armor lined the right side of the wall, and she heard them squeak and groan as they looked after her in curiosity. The subjects of a few scant portraits muttered among themselves, pointing obviously at her as she passed. She was a bit flustered by all the attention.

"Surely the Professor has had guests before," Hermione murmured so only the elf could hear her. She continued to walk but the twitching of her bat-like ears told Hermione that she was listening. "And I should not be the subject of so much gossip."

"Beatrice is sorry, Miss, but it is unusual. Master rarely has guests, and never women. No, never. Poor Master, keeps to himself too much. Poor, poor Master…"

"Erm, right," replied Hermione, slightly unnerved by the fact that she was probably the first woman in the household for quite a number of years.

They took a left and wandered down a hallway that was remarkably similar to the one they had passed through earlier. It was then that Beatrice began to mutter to herself.

"Blasted halls with blasted wizard magic. Can't find blasted room when Beatrice wants to. No, blasted room…"

Hermione was beginning to wonder whether the elf lived in a space in the wall with a pair of old trousers when they came to a stop in front of a plain wooden door. It was remarkably modern and looked out of place in the stone walls, and she couldn't help but think it was made of plywood. The only thing that seemed somewhat…less modern…about it was the doorknob, which was made of cloudy brass with a snake winding around its handle and delving into the door. How typical.

"This way, this way. Miss Granger must be happy for the Master."

Hermione made a face and the elf opened the door, allowing her into a small living room that was packed comfortably with overstuffed furniture in green leather. The walls were a plain shade of white - better than black - and against the far wall two marble trees bent over, forming a fireplace. Hermione frowned at the small, empty bookshelf in the corner, doubting that it would be big enough to carry all the books she had brought. 

"There, there," Beatrice ran through a door by the bookshelf and they walked into an extravagant bedroom, complete with a bathroom through another door. A canopy bed sat in the center with saintly elegance. Its velvet draping was also a shade of green, but darker and with the multi-colored spectrum of velvet. Black satin pillows were stacked high at the head of the bed, and the sheets and blankets appeared to be made out of satin and velvet, also.

But it the walls and the floor that amazed her. Completely made out of black marble, it was brightly polished so that if Hermione looked down, she could see her reflection on the floor. They had the power of a shadowed mirror, and the curved carvings at the junction of the ceiling sparkled with what looked like diamonds and emeralds. The Snape family had really outdone themselves.

"Dressies," Beatrice hissed, snapping her oddly shaped, rose-colored fingers. The dresser, made of dark wood and stuffed idly in the corner, seemed to spring to life and its doors shot open, revealing a bounty of old-fashioned gowns and shoes. 

"You've never had a woman guest before?" Hermione questioned, stepping toward the bureau carefully. She pulled gently on the skirt of one made of pale yellow silk and tested it between her fingers, as if trying to determine whether it was real. Underneath it sat a pair of matching shoes, which looked nothing if uncomfortable.

"Oh, no, no, no, Miss Granger. This was the room of his great-grandmother. She died a long, long time ago."

Well, that was a comforting thought. "In this room?"

"Oh, no, in the dining room. Miss Granger shouldn't worry, great-grandmother prefers the west wing."

"So she is a ghost," Hermione sighed. "I should have known."

Beatrice slapped her hands over her mouth as if she had said something wrong. If she had, it was a delayed reaction. "Miss Granger should not go to the west wing!" she wailed, hands clasping around her own throat. "No, no! Miss Granger must stay away!"

"Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "Why?"

"It is forbidden! West wing is forbidden. Promise Beatrice you won't go there. Promise her. Beatrice needs a rope. Where is a rope?"

Before Hermione could ask why on earth she needed a rope, Beatrice rushed to the curtains that covered the windows and began to knot the end of the chord into a loop. She then began to slowly place it over her head.

"What are you doing?" Hermione yelled, rushing toward her and snagging the rope from around her neck. "Trying to kill yourself?"

The house elf sniffed pitifully, looking down at the ground. "Yes, because Beatrice is bad. Beatrice told Hermione Granger to not go to the West Wing, and now Hermione Granger will."

"Did your master tell you to do this when you did something wrong?" She crouched down and awkwardly placed her arm around the tiny shoulders, hoping that she could provide a small comfort.

She shook her head rapidly and blew her nose on the towel, wiping at her eyes with the back of her little arms. "No, not the Master. Master would never be mean to Beatrice. Master's not mean."

Hermione snorted, but the creature continued. "Ever since _she_ came. It's _her_."

"Who? His great-grandmother?"

The elf shook her head again, then sighed. The knot at the end of the curtain chord untangled itself and fell perfectly still. "Beatrice thanks Miss Granger for helping through a crisis. Beatrice just gets silly sometimes." The tears were gone from her eyes and it was as if they had never been there. The tone of her voice was now almost cheerful. "Now Miss Granger must dress for dinner!"

With great embarrassment, Hermione looked down and realized that she was naked. This soon changed, however, when she found that she was now wearing the yellow dress she had been admiring earlier and that it fit her perfectly.

The house elf smiled at her, though it was staring at her hair with great foreboding. "Nothing Beatrice can do about that rat's nest now. Dress will do."

Little hands shoved into Hermione's back as the elf pushed her out of the bedroom and across the living room to the door. "Go! Go!" Beatrice cried desperately. "Master will not be happy if Miss Granger is late!"

§§§

Thanks to: Lacwing (wow, I think that's the longest review I've ever recieved. I don't know if I've ever actually come in contact with the "original" B&tB, though what you described sounds very familiar the one written by Robin McKinley. Not your sister's one, the other one. I also don't think it's really in Snape's character to belitte him so much as to propose to her everytime he sees her :)), Loah, Joshua Glass, crudedly (yes, I know what you mean :) ), little-lost-one, Meriadoc / Celithrathien (there actually is some logic behind his actions. But you'll find out later ;) ), Zvezdana, Aindel S. Druida (get well soon!), Chibidaima (or suicidal. Whatever you want), krisleigh, Ariana Althena Evergreen, StuntChini, Cecily, Akasha Ravensong, aNNiiesNapez, Luna Writer, Dues Ex, yeoldecrazy1.

I love recieving cookies, by the way. My family is on the Atkins diet (besides me), and we are lacking in serious sugary sweets.


	6. The West Wing

**Chapter Five**

It took longer for Hermione to find her way back to the entrance hall than it did when she had gone to her rooms. She had the feeling that the hallways liked to change, just like the staircases had at Hogwarts, and was convinced that they were thrilled in having a more vulnerable subject to pick on. 

She rushed down the white stairs, the elegant train of her dress racing along behind her, and reached the floor where Snape waited, panting for breath. 

He was well-dressed in an old-fashioned Muggle suit, complete with a ruffled white shirt. Hermione looked at him oddly as she descended the stairs, wondering what power had gotten him into Muggle clothing. And also, to her great surprise, he didn't look half-bad.

He examined her expressionlessly as she approached, looking her up and down and not seeming to care whether she noticed. It made her uneasy, especially since the dress, though forgiving and easy to wear, was a bit too low cut for her liking. But his gaze was chaste and cold, and she doubted that he was becoming a dirty old man looking for some jollies. Instead, she felt like she was going to some sort of horrible ball, accompanied by the most horrible man in the known world. She was also disturbed by the sense that Snape wanted to compliment her, but was holding it back between clenched teeth. She couldn't wipe the horrified expression off her face, and he noticed it with a sneer.

"Does something about my appearance startle you, Miss Granger?" he said coldly, folding his arms across his chest. She had thought that this dinner, what seemed to have become a special occasion, would be held with some amount of chivalry between them. Obviously, this was not the case. He was still her Professor, a human being where the darkness and the light combined to create a sort of warped creature, whose personality seemed to change each second and whose eyes had many faces like diamonds, but were also deep abysses of nothingness. He confused her.

She shook her head hesitantly. "No. No, sir."

"Good." He paused uneasily. "I'm curious as to why you are wearing my ancestress' dress." 

"Uh…" Hermione's hand smoothed over the waist of the gown and her palms began to sweat mildly. "I'm not really sure. Beatrice-"

"Ah, then that explains it. Let's go, you're late."

He pushed through the North door, not waiting for Hermione to accompany him. Sighing, she followed him through the door and into a large dining room, made completely of polished black marble like her bedroom, with a silver chandelier hanging from the ceiling and swooping low over a lofty table piled with enough food to satiate the whole of Hogwarts. Gothic style windows lined the far side of the room, revealing what was probably supposed to be a sunset but was really just dimming shades of blue and gray. Several cushioned, green velvet chairs were pushed up against the table (Hermione was beginning to sense a rather biased theme), and upon entering all but two of them trembled and vanished. 

Snape took the closest chair, leaving Hermione to frown and walk to the one at the other side of the table, tug it out, and sit unceremoniously. The chair groaned, though she sensed that it was probably at Severus's behavior and not at herself. It sometimes seemed that the magical inanimate had more sense than he did on his good days.

The meal began and continued in silence. After sampling the smoked ham in a honey glaze, poached fish, Russian layer salad, deviled eggs, pears and apples, and the raspberry tart, she was wondering whether she would be able to make it back to her room. She decided to distract her mind from how uncomfortable she was and begin - Merlin forbid - to talk.

"When will my first lesson begin?" she asked quietly, trying to ignore the sugary sweet smell of the fruit syrups. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at his plate, seeing its meager quantities and beginning to worry that she had made a pig of herself. Well, she had - she knew that much- but the question pertained to if he had noticed.

"Tomorrow afternoon, promptly at three." He pushed his uneaten carrots around his plate, and from the position of Hermione's eyes she couldn't tell whether he was looking at her or not. "They will continue to be held on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from here on out - at the same time."

"Why only three days per week?" She knew she was prying, but she no longer cared.

"Because…" Hermione fathered the courage to look into his eyes but was not pleased with the gaze she received as a reward. "Believe it or not, I do have a life outside of teaching. And being forced to spend that much time with you alone will prove to be more than enough to shave away at the remaining shreds of my sanity."

Slightly stung by the personal blow, Hermione flung the linen napkin on the table and stood. The chair whimpered behind her and pushed pleadingly into the back of her knees. 

"I'm tired," she said plainly, and in a way that didn't make her sound very exhausted at all. "G'night, Professor."

"Pleasant dreams, Miss Granger." Hermione had known him long enough, and maybe even perfect strangers would perhaps be able, to recognize that there was little or no sincerity in his tone. 

Sighing, she exited, unaware that Snape was watching the train of her skirt as she swept through the door, or that the shoulders of each house elf in the manor drooped as they began to clean the kitchen, tears of hopelessness drifting in their bulging eyes.

§

Hermione couldn't sleep. The nightgown she was wearing was itchy and uncomfortable, and the bed was too warm. She had tugged a heavy book from her suitcase and attempted to use it as a tool to lull her to sleep, but it seemed to have done the opposite and instead heightened her awareness. In the back of her mind, she harbored the vague wish that Professor Binns had followed her here just to lull her to sleep. She pondered asking Snape whether they could extend him an invitation, but finally decided against it.

After two hours of tossing and turning, she decided that sleep was an impossibility. 

She tossed the book aside, sighing as it landed with a heavy _thump_ on the floor. She rubbed her palms across her eyes and swung her legs over the side of the bed, smoothing the nightmarish thing that Beatrice had forced her into and thinking vaguely that she might have even preferred sleeping nude, even if Snape was in the house. Of course, she would put a strong locking charm on the door. Although someone could easily break it (what's the point of locking things if there's always _Alohomora_?), at least they would get the hint.

Hermione flipped open the lid of a suitcase that she had yet to unpack and rummaged through it, then found her terry cloth bathrobe but nothing else. Believing that even that would be better than the nightgown - and she couldn't bring herself to shed her clothes entirely - she discarded the nightgown on the floor and secured the bathrobe tightly around her waist.

"All right," she murmured. "What now? Will I actually be able to sleep?"

"Not with that hair."

Hermione swung around, startled. There was no one there.

The voice sounded aged, tired, and annoyed. "Honestly, I don't think I would be able to even be unconscious with that nest on my head. What do you do to it, make it a second home for that cat of yours?"

Crookshanks was curled up in a ball on the foot of Hermione's bed, unaware that he was being talked about. He purred softly, tail twitching in the midst of pleasant dreams.

Hermione reached for the wand on her nightstand, running a mental checklist of hexes she had memorized and wondering what would be the most effective.

The voice sighed loudly. "Here, imbecile."

She let out a gasp of relief as she saw her full reflection in the floor-length mirror on the other side of her room. There had been no portraits in her room and she had forgotten that mirrors could talk; fortunately, the ones at Hogwarts preferred to remain silent. 

"You startled me," Hermione breathed. She tucked her wand into the belt of her bathrobe. 

Its reply was bland. "Surprise, surprise. Loosen the robe, you'll never get a man if you dress like a nun."

Hermione scowled. "Excuse me?"

The mirror didn't answer, it had apparently gone to amuse itself elsewhere, if that was possible. 

"Well," she told no one in particular, thinking that perhaps her sleeping cat would listen. "I couldn't possibly sleep now. I suppose Snape wouldn't mind too much if I took a self-guided tour?"

Well, of course he would, she knew that. But he would just have to find out, wouldn't he?

Hoping no one else in the manor was awake, Hermione left her room and went through hallways upon hallway, looking for a familiar place. Apparently, the walls never slept. The subjects of paintings and portraits were leaning against their frames, snoring loudly. In another, Penelope and one her suitors snuggled in the corner while the others slept, oblivious.

"Poor Odysseus," Hermione said with a stifled grin. She continued onwards.

She soon reached the entrance room, which was odd since, to her knowledge, she had not descended any stairs. 

It was dark and empty. A pang of loneliness twanged in Hermione's stomach as the steady ticks of the clock echoed through the marble room. It was then that she noticed that the door to the West Wing was slightly ajar, and a golden warmth radiated from within.

"Curious," whispered Hermione, hesitantly walking across the hall, trying to muffle the slaps of her bare feet on the white marble. "Shouldn't it be locked?"

She was fighting a battle with herself. A part of her, a very strong, stubborn part of her, told her that this was a privilege, and an opportunity, to learn something about the mysterious Professor. Another weaker voice warned her that she could get into deep, deep trouble.

_Well_ she thought. _I've indulged my curiosity hundreds of times, and I haven't been killed…yet_.

It was all quite logical, really.

Before she was completely aware of her actions, her hand was on the cold handle and the door swung silently open.

"Convenient…"

As though the source of light had sensed her arrival, the room suddenly plunged into darkness, leaving a vague impression of its dimensions on Hermione's mind. It was small and completely empty. Another doorway stood on the opposite side, also open. Hermione crossed the room and walked courageously through it.

She was now in a long stone corridor, lit by torchlight. It held an odd feeling that made her hesitant in continuing, as if someone had been there recently. A mere scattering of small, gothic-style paintings were hung on the walls in long increments, but they mostly remained quiet. One girl was bold enough to ask her what she was doing there, but Hermione shot her a seething look and she ran away.

Step followed step. The hall seemed to continue on for miles and it only got colder. She finally came upon an entrance to another room, from which silver light poured out and spilled silently to the ground, slithering into the shadows.

Hermione approached warily, not wanting to make Snape (if he was there) aware of her arrival.

When she entered, she noticed with some shock that there were no windows, and instead what had looked like moonlight was coming from the center of the room. The only piece of furniture was a shallow table, on which sat an ancient-looking stone bowl.

Craning her neck around the check for any non-existent tattle-tale portraits, she walked to the center of the room and stared down at the table.

It was like a bowl of misty light. Hermione had never seen anything like it. Silver wisps of silk tumbled and spun dizzyingly, creating a glow that softened edges and made shadows frightening. On the edge of the bowl were carved odd letterings that she vaguely recognized but couldn't place.

It was enrapturing. Her fingertips first grazed the edge, testing the smoothness of the stone, but soon she was grasping it white-knuckled and staring into the threads of light. She barely even felt the pull as she was tugged from her feet and fell head first into Professor Snape's Pensieve. 

§

Hermione stood in Dumbledore's office, gazing at the shelves of whirling silver gadgets as she tried to collect her thoughts.

She wondered where she was - which was soon quite obvious, when she was - it couldn't have been long before she left Hogwarts, and more importantly: how she had gotten there. 

The room seemed distant even though she was standing directly inside of it. The lively tinkles whirrs, whizzes, chugs, and honks seemed muted as though they had been stuffed under a think piece of cloth. The colors weren't as bright and vibrant as she felt they should have been. 

She turned to face Dumbledore's desk and received a mild shock - it was empty.

A mumbling from the other side of the room made Hermione's head jerk upward. Severus Snape was standing on the other side of the room, arms crossed, the characteristic sneer pasted across his face. He looked paler than usual, his robes darker.

"Professor!" Hermione exclaimed. "I didn't see you. I'm awfully sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. Well…not really. I am honestly sorry and…"

She stopped, thinking that Snape was ignoring her. But then she reached the conclusion that he wasn't ignoring her, but he could not see or hear her. And she couldn't figure why.

"Bloody Dumbledore," Snape muttered gloomily. Hermione couldn't help but be amused with the fact that he talked to himself. She tried to hide a grin…would he be able to sense that? "You would think that older men would have more respect for peoples' time. It's not as if either of us are getting any younger."

The door then creaked open and Dumbledore entered from what looked like completely bleakness.

It was then that it came to her.

Pensieve.

She had stumbled into Snape's memories. 

She was in trouble. 

"Dumbledore shut the door slowly, deliberately adding to Snape's irritation. He smiled slyly and said, "Sorry, Severus. I had planned to be punctual, but a few unexpected…obstacles popped up on the way. That Weasley girl certainly can remind me of her mother."

Hermione smiled, but Snape did quite the opposite.

"You should let Filch do what he wants with them."

"What?" Dumbledore sat in his chair, beckoning Snape to do the same. He did so, but somewhat reluctantly. Two steaming cups of tea appeared in front of both in them and Dumbledore sipped for a second or two while Snape completely ignored his own. Dumbledore put the teacup down and tapped his spoon idly against its side, clearing his throat. "What, you mean suspend them on the ceiling by their ankles? I do not believe it would work. Once you set them back on their feet, all that blood would have to go somewhere." Dumbledore chuckled to himself. "Ah, youth. Which is what I believe you wanted to talk to me about, Severus?"

Snape shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. 

"Not necessarily. My problems are of a more serious nature."

"Yes, I am well aware of that." The old wizard pushed the spectacles up the bridge of his nose and took another sip of tea. "I hate saying this…" Snape let out an irritated sigh, but Dumbledore defended his argument with an open palm. "No, I really do. But I can no longer protect you. It would be illegal, and…"

"Hasn't stopped you before," Snape snarled in reply.

"That is true," he answered slowly in contemplation. Hermione's muscles were beginning to stiffen, but she still held herself still, nervous that it could be possible to disrupt anyone even though she knew better. "But now that Fudge is dead, rest his foolish soul, I have a certain…standard that I must uphold."

"So you're not going to help me."

Dumbledore opened his hands in a gesture of apology. "I wish that I could. But you must take matters into your own hands."

Snape climbed to his feet. His voice was cold and stubborn. "I've let too many things slip through my fingers," he said, his baritone voice barely a whisper. "I'm not going to let it happen again. I'm going to do something about this."

A smile quirked the corner of Dumbledore's mouth. "That's my boy. I just don't know anything about this, all right?" 

Snape's expression was still stony but it had somehow changed, though Hermione couldn't point out when it had occurred. 

He was just about to close the door when she felt a hard tug on her shoulder and she fell, coughing and sputtering, onto the cold floor of Reality.

* * *

Thanks to: Luna Writer, c[R]ud[E]dly, Anarane Anwamane, krisleigh (Haha, I know. The blind leading the blind), Kailin, Snapegirl51606 (erm...if you don't mind me asking, in time for what?), Sara Lily Potter, Akasha Ravensong, Zvezdana (I don't think I've ever heard the expression before. The house elves have...problems. But don't all of them?), lacewing (but of course. Curiosity is something that Hermione always has), Zephyre (ah, thank you), Satern Mya, Joshua Glass, Aindel S. Druida, Zvezdana (your wish is granted :)), and Dues Ex (hm, so I'm guessing my following advertisement won't work on you). Extra, extra thanks to my beta Saskia/Laia who has returned and is now correcting my stupid mistakes. 

Also, one last plea before you review *cough*, I have an original story posted on fictionpress with the very stupid name of **Haunted Ivy**, but it's taking up most of my energy right now and I'm putting way too many serious feelings and thoughts in it. So if you're up for some Wonkish literature, I suggest you check it out at ?storyid=1487528 . Thanks. 


	7. Escape

**Chapter Six**

_Escape_

With an odd-feeling, painful pang in her chest, Hermione realized that she had changed settings. Her mind buzzed from the sudden shock and her eyes strained to adjust to the deeper darks and the bright, silvery light that glowed around the Pensieve. Her perception of time and place were confused, mixed with the mottled colors of Dumbledore's office and the intense feelings that were concocted by falling onto the cold, hard floor of the West Wing. She shut her eyes trying to focus and remember.

Snape's voice was cold, reserved. Hermione was reluctant to pry open her eyelids. "May I ask, Miss Granger, what you are doing here?"

Hermione didn't know how to answer. His voice frightened her, and it held a feeling that she had never detected in him before. It was a mix, a plethora, of emotions: anger, agitation, and, oddest of all, fear. He sounded strained, as if he had to force himself to speak.

"I suggest that you answer me."

Hermione finally mustered the courage to open her eyes into too tiny slivers, gazing steadily at the floor. She could see his shoes, shiny black and reflecting the silver of the Pensieve, and the dim outline of the buttons on the cuffs of his trousers. She focused on the button that rested near his left ankle, trying to picture him as the human that she knew lived somewhere under the volumes of robes and clothing. She couldn't.

"I'm sorry," she attempted, letting her hair shield her face from his eyes. 

He was unmoved. "I did not ask for an apology, I asked for an explanation."

"I…I was curious," Hermione answered, bracing herself against the floor and expecting his foot to come flying to her jaw any second. She hated how ridiculous she sounded. The awaited contact did not come. "I couldn't sleep, and the door was open."

She heard something muttered, almost sighed, but couldn't make it out and assumed that it was a swear. "What did you see?"

She decided that she should tell the truth, he knew her too well, and he would be able to tell if she was lying. Bringing her knees forward, she levered herself into a kneeling position and pushed her bushy hair behind her ears. Her eyes began to sting and her throat contracted. Her mind was shadowed with fear. 

"You were speaking with Dumbledore," she said quietly. Snape leaned forward intently, listening. His larger presence made her even more nervous and she felt trapped like a gnome between Crookshanks's paws. But if she cried out for help, no one would be able to rescue her from his claws. "I didn't quite understand what was going on." 

His words were quiet, venomous and painful. It suddenly became very cold, and Hermione couldn't help but feel that the house could sense his feelings and change accordingly. If so, no wonder it was always so gloomy. A mist of silvery breath escaped from her mouth and floated up through the darkness, slightly muting the sharp angles of his face before disappearing. 

"Get out."

She fell back on her heels, trying to edge away. A word slipped out of her mouth, and she immediately sensed that it would have been better not to say it. "What?"

"Get out of my home."

She scrambled toward the door, grasping her wand firmly and tugging it out from the rough belt of her bathrobe. A variety of feelings flung through her mind: she felt helpless, naked, and, above all, afraid. Among all these things was the strongest urge she'd ever felt possible, the urge to run.

She found her way to her feet somehow, and tried not to flinch at the pain of the pounds of her bare feet against the hard stone. A searching chill flew underneath her bathrobe and swirled around her legs and chest, mocking her with spirals of air in free breaths. 

Ridiculous, ashamed.

She found her way to the entrance hall and ran for the entrance, prying on the high doorknocker and waiting for the door to open. The heavy, high and menacing door refused to budge. She struck her fists against it, quickly rubbing her skin raw and bruising the edges of her hands, knowing that when she took the time to look at them, their color would be unrecognizable.

"Open, damn it!" she screamed, attempting to kick it and yelping when her bare toe careened with the foot of the unyielding door. 

As if they only answered to a vocal command, the doors finally and slowly creaked open with a deep groan. As soon as the gap was wide enough she squeezed through.

She didn't take the time to think over what she had left behind, nor of her poor forgotten cat or lack of clothing, nor the fact that small, white crystals were falling from a burgundy sky, clinging to rocks, bristles, and branches. All she could feel were the dark eyes burning into her as she ran down the gravel road, cutting the bottoms of her feet but ignoring all that was around her.

Only one emotion made sense, and that was fear.

How many ways could Snape kill her? Maybe he was giving her a head start, not as a show of mercy but instead a game of cat and mouse. Crookshanks versus gnome. She was a dead woman.

There was always the standard _Avada Kadavra_, or the less merciful Cruciatus and an _Avada_ to finish the job. She hadn't seen a river on the property, so drowning wasn't a possibility. Perhaps he would be more creative and charm a suit of armor to chase after her. A werewolf chasing her in the darkness. A house elf bent on revenge.

She was freezing, but her legs still functioned and they functioned well. As long as they could carry her somewhere, she would follow.

She slowed when she reached the gate, her tattered feet sore and her legs below the bathrobe on the verge of numbness. The gates were shut, a lofty chain strung between the bars with an ominous lock hanging ominously, mocking her. She then realized that it was snowing. In the middle of summer.

Something was severely wrong with Snape's land.

She didn't take the time to consider it. Responding to the touch of her hands, the bars spread wide and allowed her through. Eyes watering and hairs pricked on the back of her neck, Hermione slipped, half-dressed, into the woods on a balmy summer night.

§

Not for the first time that night, and certainly not for the last, Hermione felt like a fool. It was at least five miles to the Reynold house, and she was sitting up against a tree on the edge of a road in a filthy bathrobe and too upset to Apparate. Splinching was not something she would risk, especially in the middle of the night when there would be no one to rescue and reassemble her.

The moonlight cast a blue glow on fallen leaves of the deepest green. Stars freckled the sky above her, twinkling down at her with winks of broken promises. The trees were silent and sturdy, towering far above her like ancient protectors. These were trees like the ones on the Hogwarts grounds; different, older than those in the Muggle world. She could feel the life. 

She waited for nothing. Each second was a second wasted, with her mind refusing to move from its position, determined on fusing her eyes on idle objects that limited thought. Even thinking of poetry would have been preferable. But there was nothing, blackness.

How could she get home? And if she arrived at home, what was there for her?

She shrugged off her bathrobe, modesty failing to make an impression on her practical mind, and nestled comfortably in the leaves, taking the time to charm her hair to repel insects. The charm almost resulted in setting her hair on fire, and she realized that if she could barely succeed in simple spells, there was no possibility of Disapparating in one piece.

No matter how much she denied it, her nerves were in a fragile state, and could easily be broken.

She transfigured her robe into a flannel blanket and spread it over herself, relaxing into the soft earth would a mournful sigh. Trying to keep from sniffling, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

§

She had not been asleep for long. The moon had hardly moved, and the blanket had not slipped away, revealing her vulnerable form to the elements. She hugged her transformed bathrobe closer to her body, teeth chattering, and wondered what had woken her.

An impact term.

It was distant, but approaching quickly. It sounded like a series of small, distant explosions, but she knew better. The reverberations were gradual and at a set rate, with a gate in which steps were far apart.

The thing that was making the noise, whatever it was, was huge. It almost dragged along as though its limbs were too large for its body and dragged, dangling from its heels, onto the ground. The sound was distinctly familiar, but also, at the same time, vague. She couldn't place it, but it reminded her of…

Halloween night, her first year at Hogwarts. She had been sobbing in the girls' loo over something her best friend/prat Ron had said, though she could not now recall what his words had been, and had heard the same sound coming closer to the oversized, unlocked door… 

Brilliant. There was a troll in Snape's woods.

The polished wood of her wand gleamed in the moonlight as she took it into her hand, for some unexplainable reason taking the time to transfigure her bathrobe into its original state. The sound grew closer, louder, and the ground and leaves trembled in fear beneath her. She didn't know what direction it was coming from, it seemed to be all around her. There was no door in the woods through which it could barge. At least the trees could provide better protection than the sinks.

Hiding would do no good, since she didn't know where it was coming from. Climbing a tree would make her an easier target for the monster's heavy club. Holding her wand out in front of her, like the dear Professor Lockhart had taught her once as the defensive stance, her eyes darted around in search of quick movements. She had to keep reminding herself that she was dealing with a slow, dim-witted troll, not a group of rowdy, crass Death Eaters. 

Unfortunately, the troll appeared from the worst area, making its arrival known by slamming its club into the tree that Hermione was leaning up against. She fell forward, coughing from the blow and trying to regain her balance but failing miserably. She scrambled through the trees as fast as she could on her hands and knees, trying to escape being stepped on by the yet unseen monster. Leaves clung to her hair and damp skin, making her burning and shivering body itch uncontrollably. 

She reared around and ducked behind a tree, just in time to see a club smash down into the mud with a sickening _wham_! The monster behind it was massive, and she could see its outline glowing dimly in the moonlight. It was at least fifteen feet tall with a knobby head and hands which, one clenched on the club and one in the air waving about, appeared to have too many knuckles. It slimy-looking skin shone a sickly green-blue.

A glimmer from the troll's chest caught her eye. It was gold and appeared to be some sort of lapel pin, though he was wearing no shirt. Dodging another weakening blow from the troll's club, she scrambled under a tree root and screamed "_Accio_ badge!"

The troll screamed in pain, whirling around with arms flailing in the air, looking for its source. Hermione clamped her hands over her ears, trying to block out the deafening, screeching sound, and the badge fell in front of her within arm's reach. She grasped it in her free hand, noticing too late that it was covered in troll blood. It hadn't been a removable badge; it was a part of the troll's chest. She grimaced in temporary sympathy and wiped it in the grass, thankful for the time the distracted troll was allowing her to read. She did have her priorities straight, after all.

A weak _lumos_ and another cleaning later, Hermione was able to make out the words "Snape Manor - Patrol" framed by what she assumed to be the Snape family crest. 

The bloody thing worked for him. She had to give him points for creative merit, but couldn't he have chosen a less painful way for her to die?

Hermione threw the badge at the troll's feet. She was panting and her heard was beating like a jackrabbit's and with her lack of sleep and day's excitement, she felt like she might pass out very, very soon.

Thinking that her best bet against the troll would be his own weapon, she pointed her wand at his club and shouted "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The club merely attempted to tug away from his hand, but the troll held it firm, searching around with dim eyes for his prey.

"_Stupefy_!" The spell barely affected him. Instead of falling to the ground, drooling and unconscious, he merely stood, dazed, shook his head, and let out a frustrated groan.

Besides being frightened enough to wet herself, Hermione was also slightly embarrassed. Ron could take on a full-sized mountain troll when he was eleven, and _she_ couldn't take one on after she had graduated? She was Hermione Granger, for heaven's sake.

The troll stumbled over to her side of the tree, almost drunkenly, with his club slung over his shoulder. He gazed around in search for her, confused, and spotted her with hazy eyes. He began to approach.

She backed up against the tree, bark rubbing against the calves of her bare legs, and breathed shallowly, praying that it would leave her alone. 

It peered closely at her, almost examining her like a scientist. Its glossy eyes narrowed into two slits and its mouth puckered off to its side in contemplation. Scratching his head with his club, he reached over.

And grabbed the wand out of her hand, immediately snapping it into two distinct pieces. Hermione cried out as part of her was lost, vaporized in a puff of purple smoke. It fell feebly to the ground. Helpless, she closed her eyes, deepening her thought and praying deeper, wishing that someone would save her.

Now it was playing with her. The club smashed into the tree just a meter above her head, cracking it in half and sprawling the branches on the ground. She stammered forward and ducked under the troll's legs, holding her breath as a ghastly stench overwhelmed her. It bent down and watched as she ran, hiding, dodging, hoping, wishing, and fighting off tears.

She turned to see it stamp for her, heavy limbs beating the ground with an uneven beat, and she could see the gleam of blood on the thing's broad chest. Purple steam was quickly filling the empty space, putrid fumes and glittering dust filling her lungs. She coughed twice and her eyes watered horribly from the wasted magic. 

Another sickening _thud_ came from the end of the troll's club, sounding like a Bludger colliding with a Seeker's skull. She felt nothing - no shuddering of the objects that shielded her, no vibration of the ground - instead, she heard a loud, pained groan that wasn't monstrous but human.

A growl, gritted with an edge that only torture could give. "_Dormara!_!"

There was silence, foreboding and dizzying, and Hermione brushed her bushy, soiled hair behind her hair and listened. A leaf fluttered to the ground, landing as lightly as a butterfly on her tattered, bleeding left foot.

The dust and smog began to clear and the glittering remains of her wand faded into the moonlit night. As it cleared she saw its outline glinting, the bulky form of the troll like an enlarged Goyle. It was staring at her dimly, unmoving.

Not moving at all.

There was a groan, from her left and quite human. It was followed quickly by a gasp of pain.

Hermione snapped her head to the side just in time to see Snape, bracing himself a sapling and staring at her with the expression of a dying man, the sleeve of his trouser grasped tightly in his white hand, close his eyes and topple lifelessly to the ground.

* * *

Thanks to: Joshua Glass (she's still sort of a student, but not strictly. Snape is more of her tutor now than her teacher...well, he's supposed to be, anyway. That hasn't really worked out well, yet), M'cha Araem, Satern Mya, aNNiie sNapez (you guys are going to make me fat...virtually, anyway), HunnySnowBunny, yeoldecrazy1 (yes, it will become clearer in future chapters. I would be upset if everyone knew what it was about right now :). What keeps people reading is the mystery, is it not?), Anarane Anwamane, c[R]ud[E]dly, krisleigh, Chibidaima, Luna Writer, Aindel S. Druida (is it so?), Cow as White as Milk, Athena Keating-Thomas (I usually like polite!Snape, too, but thinking back to canon, I don't think that the Snape who practically called her a whining, pathetic, unattractive wretch of a girl would carry her luggage. Yet, anyway :)), Lady Katrina, Zvezdana, PixXy , Zephyre, Music, and kLyn.

And, as always, to my lovely beta Laiagarien.


	8. Above Whining?

**Chapter Seven**

_Above Whining?_

House elves lined the walls of Snape's chamber, silent and looking faintly annoyed. Everything was black, as Hermione had expected, darkening the mood that had overtaken her on her trip back to the Manor with Snape in tow. Black curtains, black walls, black bedding, black wood. She had been secretly disappointed that it wasn't some sort of surprise - she had been hoping for a hidden burst of color somewhere in the confines of the room. Maybe even, Merlin forbid, pink. But Snape wasn't usually one for pleasant surprises.

The house elves had glared at her as she levitated him onto his bed of black velvet and satin. They wouldn't have even allowed her into the room if they hadn't seen the unconscious master floating behind her. They were suspicious of her, she knew, and she could hear them whispering among themselves. For some unknown reason, they didn't move to help her. They preferred to watch.

"All right," Hermione muttered, feeling like she was talking to herself even though she was far from being alone in the room. "Can't cast _eneverate_, he'd be in too much pain. Damn, I don't even have my bloody wand. Bloody troll…"

She kept looking her professor over, even though it was obvious where he was injured. His black trousers were soaked with blood, and his leg was set at odd, ill-matching angles. His face, paler than usual, was set in a stern expression, his mouth drawn tight under his prominent nose. She wondered if he always looked angry, even in his sleep.

Picking up the sleeve of his trousers with a cautious pair of fingers, she pulled them up his leg and gasped. A fragment of bone had torn through his skin by his knee - that was where the blood had begun to soak through - and his usually pale skin was purple and disfigured. It also looked like his shin had been shattered by the club of his own guard troll. If the part of his body hadn't been connected to his knee, she might not have even known that it was a leg. She flinched in sympathy, trying to gather the courage to not faint or walk silently from the room.

His head nodded to the side and he grimaced, letting out a drawn-in sigh. Hermione dropped the leg of his trousers and looked pleadingly over at the elves.

"I would like some help, please," she said, lifting her bloodied hands in surrender. "I don't even have a wand."

"Elves," a little, mottled-blue female elf from beside his dresser piped up, standing on her tip-toes to peer over the shoulders of those in front of her, "cannot help mudblood unless Master commands us to."

Hermione's mouth drew into a thin, tight line reminiscent of McGonagall. "Who taught you such language?"

"The master and mistress, Miss Mudblood," Beatrice said smartly, gripping her tea-towel clothing tightly in tiny hands.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She should have known. Though how the elves figured she was Muggle-born, she had no idea. She also had the sudden inkling that there might be a Snape-ish portrait of Mrs. Snape, almost a double of Mrs. Black's in the Order headquarters, lurking somewhere within the halls. It probably served as a worship post for the household elves. It was sad, really. Poor, deluded souls…

"I can't believe that I ever founded S.P.E.W," she muttered, searching around her pockets for her wand. "Should have never felt sorry for them…do not know what I was thinking…" She finally realized that her wand had died an honorable death several minutes ago and let out a frustrated groan. "If you bloody things do not help me, he is going to bleed to death!" she screamed at the ugly little creatures. They all laid their ears back like threatened cats, and Hermione had the sudden thought that Beatrice might hiss at her. The elf's bulging eyes shot daggers across the room.

"Master will not die, but Misses might if she treads on the wrong toes. Misses has no respect for privacy."

She felt her face growing hot, and no doubt that her ears were flaming. "_I'm_ not the one snogging my master's knickers."

"Mistress!" Beatrice shrieked. "Mistress, not Master!"

There was a mutteredcurse from the headboard and Hermione turned in surprise, frizzy curls falling in her face and blocking her vision. As soon as she was able to sweep them aside she saw that Snape was awake, his teeth bared and his eyes squeezed shut as he realized his pain. His hands moved down to grasp his leg and he let out a painful, eerie, almost inhuman howl of pain.

"Let go!" Hermione said hurriedly as she moved to grasp his hands away from his injured leg, suddenly feeling like a mother tending to a fussy toddler. Except toddlers weren't nearly as surly.

He pushed her hands away hurriedly, smearing them with even more of his blood. When he spoke, his growl was hoarse and painful-sounding. "Leave me, you foolish girl!"

"I'm as much of a foolish girl as you are a gentleman!" she retorted, tugging his wand out of the hand that he had quickly used to retrieve it from his pocket. Hermione was thankful for his weakness, otherwise he might have beat her to it and struck her with some horrible hex that she wouldn't be able to undo.

"Damn it!" Snape groaned through gritted teeth. "Just kill me, get it over with."

"Be quiet," Hermione demanded, magically binding his wrists to the posts of his bed to keep him from picking at his wounds. He kept emitting strange sounds like those of a dying animal, particularly a goat. He was a drama queen. Hermione had seen him endure worse torture before without much more than a few winces. "And lie still. You're not helping matters, you know."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Snape spat out bitterly as Hermione moved to his bedside drawer, beginning to paw through its contents. "Stop!" he protested. "I demand that you cease this instant! This is violation of my property. You might as well kiss your future goodbye, Miss Granger, for your disrespect is doing nothing to lighten my mood."

She ignored his complaints and slammed the drawer shut, moving down to the one below it. "Do you have any Healing Salve readily available? Klotter? Skel-aligner? Skele-Gro?"

Snape had suddenly turned much, much paler, his skin tinged with an odd shade that could only be described as puce.

"You plan on de-boning me?" he murmured, his hands curving into claws at his sides. His good leg twitched involuntarily.

"Like a fish," Hermione assured him with a sly smile. She hated to admit it, but she was enjoying this. She had been given the upper hand over the Potions master, and this was a rare opportunity that she must take advantage of. She would have to remember to express her gratitude for his saving of her life…later.

"Bring Skele-Gro and Dreamless Sleep, please," Hermione said to Beatrice. The elf pointedly ignored her request and instead looked upon her master with large, unblinking eyes.

Snape grimaced. "Do what she says."

Hermione smirked in triumph as Beatrice left, her shoulders slumped in defeat, and the other elves vanished.

"Well, Miss Granger," Snape said as soon as they were alone, "congratulations on becoming the stupidest being to ever walk these halls. That includes your mangy excuse for a cat, by the way."

"What was that?" Hermione said, proud of her newfound boldness. She twirled his wand in between her fingers, examining the circular path it made in the air and observing that it wobbled slightly. "I think that your wand is off-balance, Professor."

He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, breathing through his mouth. "You are not here to critique my wand, you are here to fill that empty head of yours with _my_ precious knowledge. If such a thing is possible."

"Hold still," Hermione commanded, approaching the side of the bed and poking his wand into his injured leg, just below the knee.

"That hurts!" he protested, trying to swipe his wand away from her grasp but missing by a matter of inches.

"I never knew," Hermione answered, quickly pausing to reinstate the binding curse that had worn off more quickly than she had anticipated, "that the most feared Potions Master that Hogwarts has ever known is prone to whine."

His glare was steady and incredulous. "I do not whine."

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Professor."

An odd greenish tint came over his face once again as she removed the bones from below his knee to his ankle. For a minute, she thought that me might vomit, but he instead closed his dark eyes and swallowed, apparently trying to ignore the bizarre, sickening feeling of having no bones in one's leg. It looked like an odd, undiscovered sea creature that had washed ashore, purple and discolored and with no bones to speak of. Rather like a tubular jellyfish.

"Potion and Skele-Gro for Miss Granger," Beatrice squeaked bitterly as she appeared at Hermione's side. "Does the Master request anything else?" she added, ignoring Hermione and turning to face Snape.

"Leave us," he mumbled. She obeyed his orders and vanished with a crack that split the air in two. The echo of her disappearance rung in Hermione's ears quite long after she had left.

"I never though that I'd meet such bigoted house elves," Hermione muttered, attempting to pull the cork from the bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion. Her hand slipped and she rubbed it on the rough cloth of her bathrobe, trying to wipe away the clamminess.

"Yet you were quite fortunate for meeting Kreacher," Snape replied, eyes still closed and voice quiet.

"But he was mad," she insisted, trying to dim the tone of naivety that threatened to overflow in her voice. She gave a little cough to clear her throat, hoping that he wouldn't bring up S.P.E.W. She finally managed to uncork the bottle and moved on to the Skele-Gro, twisting open the jar and coughing as disgusting-smelling steam shot through the air.

He took both without complaint, but his eyes held an animosity that she completely understood. It was her fault that he was injured, and no doubt that her presence here was much less than comforting.

Snape hissed in pain and Hermione turned an inquisitive eye toward him.

"You are supposed to be asleep," she said, twisting the bottle around and making sure that she had read it correctly.

"Dreamless Sleep…" he grunted. Rivulets of sweat were beginning to wander down from his forehead, making his pale skin glisten. "…does not work. I have built up an immunity to it over the years."

"Then why did you drink it?" she asked, frowning in disapproval.

"If you must know, you nosy child," he hissed. "I was holding onto the naïve hope that I might not be forced to listen to your voice."

Hermione didn't reply but fingered the belt of her bathrobe, mildly insulted.

"You couldn't simply repair it!" he yelled as another wave of pain swelled through him. Hermione started at the sudden change in the volume of his voice.

"There was too much damage!" She could feel her own voice rising. Not a smart choice, she must get herself under control.

"It hurts!"

"Well, you wouldn't be in so much pain if you hadn't forced me to leave."

"I wouldn't have forced you to leave if you hadn't been invading my personal chambers."

"I was curious and _you_ weren't there to stop me!"

"Then you should learn to control your curiosity!"

"And _you_ should learn to control your temper!"

Snape stopped his bantering, defeated. He knew that she was right, but it was impossible to admit. His temper was not loud nor did it demand attention of those around, but it was quiet, quick, and poisonous. In many ways, much worse.

Hermione brushed a tendril of hair behind a hot ear as she held a dampened cloth to his flesh wounds.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice demure and apologetic, "that I invaded your privacy. And thank you…for saving me."

She swept the drying blood away silently, not daring to meet his eyes. But when he spoke, his voice held none of the sarcasm or bitterness that it so often did.

"You're welcome."

* * *

A/N: This conversation from B&tB was so much like Severus and Hermione that I couldn't _bare_ to not put it in there. Hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks to: Joshua Glass (um, this chapter should clear it up for you), Snapegirl51606 (ahh, all right then), Satern Mya, Zephyre, Chibidaima, Anarane Anwamane, blueHeffer, Melissa Jooty (I think she's a bit more angry at herself than she lets on), Aindel S. Druida, M'cha Araem, crudedly, Cassandra (Why would I mind? I have a border-line (only?) obsession with him too :) Obviously.), and krisleigh. I'm glowing from the compliments.

And, as always, thanks to my beta, Laiagarien.


	9. Diagon Alley

**Chapter Eight**

_Diagon Alley_

Hermione glanced through a book she had summoned from her room, trying to ignore the sounds that came from the bed. It sounded as though Snape might have swallowed one of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, and she half-expected him to burst open like a firecracker, scattering colorful sparks around the room. Wishful thinking, but amusing, nonetheless.

"Miss Granger," he hissed, the normal tone of his voice returning. She was very glad that he only had a few bones to re-grow, as opposed to twenty-six. With that, the whining would be unbearable. "You are free to leave now."

"But Professor-"

"'But's, 'and's, and 'or's are not acceptable answers to a command." His leg was now taking on a more solid shape, the purple color beginning to fade. "I expect to see you at breakfast tomorrow morning at promptly nine o'clock. From thence, we will go to Diagon Alley and get our affairs in order."

Hermione stared at him in disbelief, sure that her mouth was gaping open like that of a stunned fish. "You're taking me shopping?"

"Hardly. I do not plan on you keeping my wand for the remainder of the summer. I'm sure that Ollivander wouldn't mind sucking a few Galleons out of you in exchange for a new one. Now, if you would be so kind, please give a crippled man back his wand."

She blushed as she set it on the nightstand. "Right, sorry."

"And Miss Granger," he added as she turned to leave. "This is not a flat that you share with seven single female witches. This is my manor, with impressionable house elves, and…" His eyes flickered downward to her bare legs. "I will be expecting you to wear something a bit more conservative."

With a burning face and an unspoken defensive glare in her eyes, Hermione frowned at him, slamming the door as she left his room, leaving Snape in pain and wondering what on earth he had done wrong this time.

§

She arrived at promptly 9:03, but Snape made no comment about her tardiness. Nor did he remind her of the need to wear conservative clothing, though he did seem satisfied that she was wearing her ordinary school robes. Without a word spoken to each other, she sat and her plate filled full of food that she knew she would never be able to finish. Or begin.

All of it was burnt to the point of blackness.

Hermione stared down at her plate with furrowed eyebrows, pushing a piece of over-fried toast off to the side and wondering if any eggs, or perhaps a single sausage, had survived. They hadn't.

"Professor," she said, breaking the silence where only the clang of silverware or clinking of glass dared to intrude.

"What on earth do you want now, Granger?"

Hermione flinched, taken aback by his sudden irritability. He must have had a very painful night after she left.

"You are three minutes late and you expect me to carry on a conversation with you? I am not in the mood for petty gossip, nor do I particularly care how good you think the sausage is. I have a splitting headache, so do me a favor and be silent."

Hermione turned from her plate and stared at him, confused. One simple word was not something that would warrant such a reaction. Besides the fact, he was a man of few words. If he had something to say, he usually didn't care to detail it. 

"A simple 'shut up' would have sufficed," she sniffed, impaling a well-done sausage on the prongs of her fork. It cracked and he looked at her with a dark, uplifted eyebrow. "And I beg to differ on the deliciousness of my breakfast."

His elbows hit the table sharply and he sighed, rolling his eyes. Sudden ripples through his goblet of wine (what normal man, Hermione thought, drank wine with breakfast?) sent tiny red jewels of light dancing across his face and playing on the tip of his hooked nose.

"Beatrice, you wench!" he bellowed. "I demand that you serve Miss Granger something that is edible!"

Hermione looked down at her plate just in time to see the black food vanish, quickly replaced by a half of a pink grapefruit with a spoon shoved roughly into the top.

"I do not even like grapefruit," Hermione muttered, prying the spoon out of the sour fruit and shrugging. Ah, well, she'd take what she could get. Besides, it couldn't be _that_ bad.

She scooped a small portion into her mouth and immediately made a face. As discretely as she could, she spit into the linen napkin and wiped the corners of her mouth, trying to act as if she didn't know why Snape suddenly looked pleasantly amused.

"Don't worry, Miss Granger," he said under his breath. "I will see that you receive a proper breakfast in London."

She jumped as a frustrated squeal rang through the hall. Snape looked down at his plate and sighed. His meal, also, had been changed into the other half of Hermione's grapefruit.

"Well," he said, surprisingly nonplussed. "Might not be such a horrible idea for me, either."

He pushed the chair back from the table, loudly scraping it across the floor. Hermione gritted her teeth and he said, "Come, Granger, we have much to do before your first lesson this afternoon, and I do not tolerate lollygagging."

§

Hermione could have sworn that it was raining, but by the time they arrived outside of the floo in Diagon Alley, her robes were dry and her hair was not dotted by round droplets of water. The sky above the tiny shops shone a crystal, cloudless blue and bright sunlight twinkled merrily off of the windows and glistened off scales and tiny silver trinkets that lined the street. A hag with a surprisingly bright smile was standing, statue-like, outside of a shop with a silver tray that read _Tooth Fairy Whitener - The Only Magic that Whitens and Straightens! SPECIAL! 2 for 20 Sickles!_

"Dentures?" Hermione whispered breathily as they passed.

"My guess is that they're chunks of broken dinner plates."

Hermione chuckled and he led her along the alley until they reached the narrow, rickety shop with gold letters, peeling off but still unmoved from the last time she had seen it; _Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C_. The same purple cushion laid in the dusty window, with the same wand that had been in there seven years ago, when she stepped inside for the first time and her parents stood, quietly and shyly, behind. She felt a pang of longing for her lost wand, but perhaps now she could get a _better_ one, one more suited to her growing needs.

The tiny bell, its tone higher than Hermione remembered, tinkled as she walked in, and she was surprised to notice that Snape had followed her inside. She would have thought that he would have wandered off to the Apothecary, choosing to inhale the smells of rotting flesh and mold rather than see her selection of a new magical instrument.

But no, he just stood there with the dark, limp hair framing his face and the bottomless eyes staring out from under bushy brows. His arms were crossed across his chest, hiding his pale hands from view. Despite his stance, he didn't seem impatient.

Dusty wand boxes were stacked up to the ceiling, a muted rainbow of faded violets and yellows, shadowed blues and reds, a few creams and grays and blacks. It seemed that the spindly chair that had once been the only piece of furniture in the shop had finally given way, and a patched, blue easy chair had taken its place. With what appeared to be hesitation followed by a grimace, Snape sat down in the chair and leaned back, his hands folded in his lap.

"Good afternoon," said Mr. Ollivander, framed by stacks of wands as he suddenly appeared before them. Hermione inhaled a sharp breath through her nostrils and started coughing, and she even saw Snape start out of the corner of her eye. The man had an odd and disconcerting talent for startling the wits out of his customers, and his eerie, moon-glow eyes were not exactly reassuring.

"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," Hermione said softly, feeling suddenly as if she had stepped into a library and was forced to speak in a whisper.

"Miss Granger," he said, and swept a smooth but curious look at the Professor. "I assume that you are in need of a new wand?"

"Unfortunately. My last suffered an untimely death in a troll attack."

If she hadn't known better, she would have thought that the old wizard was about to cry. Actually, his expression resembled one of a man who has just heard of the death of his only child.

Wiping the expression away, he turned and slipped a thin box from the nearest stack. "Your previous wand was nine inches, mahogany with dragon heartstring, correct?"

"Of course," she answered with a tiny smile, heart swelling with admiration for the creepy old man's memory.

"Let's try this one. It's a bit different, but it may suit you well. Ten inches, willow, heartstring of your dragon's cousin."

He placed it in Hermione's hand and several feeble, yellow sparks leaked out sloppily from the end.

"No, that won't do." He snatched it out of her fingers and immediately replaced it with a different one. "This one's quite a change. Twelve inches, holly, female unicorn hair." 

It was gone as soon as it touched her fingertips.

"My, my," Ollivander murmured, turning back to his boxes and addressing the wands. "Just because it is the off-season is no need for you to be difficult."

Hermione went through seven more until she found one that suited her as well as her last. Eleven inches, rosewood, with the hair of a male unicorn. Ollivander beamed at her - in a way that only he could beam - as she shot a sparkling figure in the shape of a lion from the tip of her wand. Snape grumbled audibly from his chair.

"Splendid," Ollivander said, snatching the wand from her hand and placing it carefully back in the box. "That will be nine Galleons."

"No," Snape said suddenly, startling them both. "I do not believe that she has found her wand yet."

"I assure you, Professor," Ollivander said, his soft voice holding an obvious tint of annoyance. He was not one that was going to tolerate being undermined by someone several years his junior. "That Miss Granger has chosen one suited to her abilities."

"But not her potential," Snape said throatily, with the tiniest hint of a growl. Hermione's eyes volleyed back and forth between them, nervous, and hoping that they wouldn't begin to duel. "Let us find something more fitting."

Ollivander frowned and sighed. "Fine," he said begrudgingly. With a flick of the old man's wand, the boxes disappeared, replaced by an old trunk sitting innocently in the center of the room. Hermione cocked her head to the side, confused.

"Is she is well suited, I will be more than happy to supply her with one. But if she isn't-"

"She will be," Snape said shortly, interrupting him.

Ollivander handed Hermione a flat, rusty key and she walked toward the trunk, a bit puzzled, encouraged by the nods of the two men beside her. She gently pushed the key into the lock. 

With a turn and a soft click, the lid of the trunk popped open. Inside sat a single wand, resting on a sheet of purple velvet.

"Very good choice," Ollivander said, stepping forward and sweeping up the wand before Hermione had the chance to touch it. "Redwood, nine and one half inches." His voice fell into a whisper. "Core is the heartstring of a particularly nasty Peruvian Vipertooth tied with the hair of a centaur. I suggest that you tell no one of that, as it is sure to get you in quite a bit of trouble with the Ministry."

The wand found its way into another box and was soon being cradled in the crook of Hermione's arm, while Snape looked upon her with a strange expression that almost resembled pride. 

"Thirty Galleons, please, Miss Granger."

Hermione began to reach into her pocket until she realized something very bad. She did not have thirty Galleons. Even her bank account was suffering, only surviving with the money that her parents were able to send her, not to mention that the Muggle-Wizard money exchange rate was quite horrible. 

"Erm…" Hermione muttered, her face turning red as she fished seventeen Galleons out of the small sack that hung across her robes. "Well, I…"

"Charge it to my account, Mr. Ollivander," Snape said suddenly, surprising Hermione so greatly that she almost rocketed backward and fell onto the floor. She caught herself, however. 

"Very well," Ollivander said in relief, conjuring a slip of paper and a quill. Snape sprawled his signature across the bottom and handed them back to the older man, and the two items vanished into the air. "Have a pleasant day, Professor, Miss Granger."

They left the shop, Snape having reassembled himself and working his mouth into the trademark sneer of indifference. Hermione was confused and somewhat light-headed. Snape had actually done something _nice_, and there was no apparent reason for him acting that way. It did not save her life, only rescued her from embarrassment, which she thought he might have been more than happy to witness. 

"Thank you, Professor," she said, quickly taking her wand out of the box and tossing the dusty square of cardboard into the nearest rubbish bin. She ran her fingers over the smooth wood, feeling them tingle with a power that told her that this wand was much, much different from her last. 

"There are no thanks in order, Miss Granger," Snape replied, searching the shop windows with disinterest. "I expect you to pay me back in, at the most, one month, with ten percent interest, of course."

He noticed Hermione's discomfort, though she was doing what she could to hide it. 

"I was only joking," he said dryly. "I decided to save you the Galleons, since you will be needing them to make some purchases for Potions supplies. Pay me back when you can." 

Hermione's shoulders slumped in relief, and she admitted that she was also quite curious. Something had come over him…he never joked or kidded, at least in a kind way, and if he did, he would not be one to admit it. 

The sudden spurt of acting the gentleman was gone, however, when they reached the Apothecary and Snape went in before her without a glance. _He probably does not want to be seen with me_, she thought. _Probably better that way, I'm not too keen on being seen with him, either. _

She walked past the numerous displays and bins of various Potions ingredients, watching as Snape ducked under the low-flying bits of things hanging from the ceiling and through a curtain in the back. She turned off to the side and bent down to examine a few of the barrels of brightly colored powders, from things that she recognized from the Muggle word itself and things she had worked with in Potions Class, to those she had only read about in books or never heard of at all. All of it, no matter what it was, smelled ghastly, and Hermione held her sleeve up to her nose, wishing, for once, that she was a girl that cared for perfume. She suddenly pitied those who worked in this store; it must be a ghastly chore to get the stink out of their clothes.

She shoveled a few Nostrils of Newt into a bag, followed quickly by powdered Bicorn Horn, dead cockroaches, and knotgrass. She had just sealed the bags when she heard a familiar voice shout her name.

"Hermione!" 

Hermione whipped around, embarrassed that anyone would call her name that loudly in a place that was supposed to be kept quiet. Her embarrassment quickly lifted, however, when she saw a red shock of hair leaping toward her and felt two arms quickly lock tightly around her throat.

"Hi Ginny," Hermione choked out, trying to pry the younger girl's arms from her neck. "Ginny…please let go, you're hurting me."

Ginny Weasley obliged and stepped back, a broad smile brightening her freckled face. "What are you doing here? You're the last person I expected to see today, we were considering the fact that you had dropped off the face of the earth."

"Why is that?" Hermione asked, trying to work her hair back into place - wherever that was. 

"Well, Ron sent you a few letters, and all times Pig just came back with them, looking incredibly confused. He might not be the brightest owl in the world, but when he has a letter to bring, he usually finds the person they're meant for."

"That's…odd," Hermione said, biting her lip. 

"So what have you been up to?" Ginny asked, not missing a beat. 

"It's only been a few weeks, Ginny," Hermione said with an amused smile. "Not a few years." 

"Yes, but you're Hermione, you must be doing _something_ interesting. Anything I should know about? Illegal activities? Secret societies? Shady ex-lovers?"

"Ah, yes, Ginny," she answered. "You know me too well." She decided not to answer, preferring Ron to not know where she was. "What are you doing here?"

Ginny's smile faltered, and she was obviously annoyed that Hermione didn't care to disclose any information. "Mum asked me to get some nettles," she said, holding up a brown paper bag. "I have a few extra Knuts and Sickles, would you care to have some ice cream with me?" 

"I don't know." Hermione twisted her neck around, trying to see whether Snape had come back from the curtained section of the store. "I might have to leave soon."

"Ah, you're no fun. Let me guess, studying to do?"

"Of course."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "'Of course.' Well, if you're sure you can't have any ice cream, I better go. Harry's at the Burrow and…" She paused and her face flushed a bright pink.

"Oh no," Hermione groaned. "It's bitten you again."

"Shush," Ginny said, the blush refusing to go away. "But it's bitten more than just me. Anyway…what can I tell Ron on how to reach you? He'll murder me if I tell him I met up with you and didn't find out how he could send you his love letters."

Now it was Hermione's turn to blush, though not exactly in the way that Ginny had before. "You can reach me at the Reynold house, though it might take me a while to reply."

Ginny lifted a red eyebrow and a grumbling, squat wizard pushed past them, muttering about them taking up too much room with their idle chitchat. 

"I suppose that's my cue to leave," Ginny said. "Expect a letter from Ron by…oh…probably six o'clock tonight. He won't waste any time,"

"Right," said Hermione as Ginny began to make her way to the back of the shop. "'Bye, Ginny."

She waved quickly and was gone, much to the relief of other customers who were annoyed with a conversation that they were not interested in. Hermione turned back to the back wall to see if Snape had emerged yet and was surprised to see that he was standing directly behind her, a bag that threatened to burst at any minute held tightly in his hand. 

"What?" he said coldly. "Embarrassed to admit that you are staying with me?"

"No," Hermione answered, taken aback. "I just didn't know if you would like me to disclose that information."

"I see," he said, pushing past her, with a tone that plainly said 'No, I do not see'. 

"It's not like we're secret lovers or anything!" she yelled as he quickly left the store with his hand uplifted in a gesture that beckoned for her to hurry, leaving her to pay quickly and run after him, thinking that Ginny had too much influence over her tongue.

* * *

Thanks to: Anarane Anwamane, xmaverickf14x, Akasha Ravensong, Joshua Glass (yes :)), Cinammon (well, the house elves aren't really ones to take orders from a Muggle fanfic writer, either...), Zephyre (teehee), Snapegirl51606, Satern Mya, Electryone (ooh...happy tunes?), Chibidaima, krisleigh, meneyavewen, Zvezdana, yeoldecrazy1 (no, not weird at all. I mean, it's not _exactly_ the same as the movie. Well...nah, we'll just have to see), yeoldecrazy1, Aindel S. Druida, Luna Writer (who says they're going to fall in love? heehee ;)), d (I'm working on it!). And, as always, thanks to my beta Laiagarien. Reviews are always appreciated. 


	10. The Many Faces of Snape

**Chapter Nine**

_The Many Faces of Snape_

"Thank you for being on time, for once," Snape said coldly as she entered his study - a generous room paneled in oak and abounding with cupboards of all colors, shapes, and sizes. A long table sat at the far side of the room, nestled against the wall, and gray stretches of light snuck in through the window and landed on the floor at Hermione's feet.

She had left her room fifteen minutes earlier, assuming that the halls would do their best to keep the directions that Snape had given her from working properly. But she had made it, with forty-seven seconds to spare, slightly out of breath and feeling that she was quite out of shape. 

"I tried my best," she answered, hugging her robes closer to her, trying to smother out the chill. "It's rather cold in here."

"It preserves the ingredients," Snape said, moving from the table to the cupboard and carrying several bins and bottles to the table. A cauldron floated to its position above a small, blue fire, and the room smelled of hot metal. 

"So that is why your classroom was always so cold."

"Observant," he remarked dryly, stepping away from the table.

He had to be the most impossible man ever. If he ever appeared to be happy, Hermione would have sworn that he suffered from multiple personalities. 

"Professor," Hermione began as she grated ginger onto a small dish. "Are you familiar with Muggle films?"

"I have seen a few, but I don't tend to make a habit of it." He continued to scribble directions on a piece of parchment, apparently uninterested in her questioning. The instructions were now six inches long, with tiny, crabbed writing that would probably be almost impossible to read. _Good_, Hermione thought. _I like a challenge_.

"Have you ever seen _The Three Faces of Eve_?"

"No, I do not think so."

"Oh."

He continued to write, thinking that she was just trying to make idle chitchat to fill the stale silence.

Later, the cauldron was bubbling and Snape had moved to his desk, carefully examining her as she worked. His cold eyes watching her made her uneasy.

And her stomach chose that exact moment to stage an angry protest. Her face burned as she bent lower, hoping that he hadn't heard. She had forgotten that they hadn't taken breakfast in London, and lunch was still two hours away. She tried to ignore the pleading pangs of hunger that tugged on her stomach and squinted at the instructions, wondering whether he had written "catnip" or "turnip" and whether that was eight or six grams. She frowned, bending closer to the parchment to see if any lines ceased somewhere. Wouldn't one of such a family background be able to write properly?

Once again, as if reading her thoughts (but only the most unimportant ones), Severus stated aloud, "I was born left handed."

She glanced up at him, taken by surprise. Her eyebrows lifted in confusion.

"I was born left handed," he repeated, tapping the quill gently against his desk. For the first time, Hermione noticed that he held it oddly, choked up on it as if he was trying to strangle it to extinction. "My parents were very traditional, with the mixed customs of both England and other parts of the world, where some of my ancestors were from. In the Middle East, it was improper to use your left hand in public for…various reasons."

Hermione nodded him onward, immediately understanding what he had meant. 

"Therefore, when my left hand began to show dominance, they corrected me constantly, training my right hand to be my wand hand, as well as my writing hand. So, if you cannot read my instructions, blame the dead."

His eyes fell back onto his work, the mixed candle and sunlight gleaming on the waxy coat of his hair, and he continued to tap his quill on the desk rhythmically. Hermione squinted at him, trying to critique his conditions for finding the need to regale her with such a tale. There was none, that she could see, other than a lengthy excuse (which he was not well known for) to explain why his handwriting was less than satisfactory.

Curious. 

She skipped over the catnip/turnip and moved onto preparing those that followed, building up the courage to ask him what he had really written. After his brief spiel about a mild childhood trauma, she conceived the notion that it, in Snapeish, translated to "You learned to read in primary school. Or were the Muggle teachers too busy whapping each other with clubs to teach properly?"

She bit her lip in concentration, trying to stretch out her shoulders, which were aching from hunching over the cauldron and instructions. When she finished preparing all the other ingredients, she let out a tiny groan and went back to the ingredient that she could not read to save her life. She decided to take her chances. 

Taking sixty grams of powdered catnip, she gritted her teeth together, dumped it into the cauldron, and squeezed her eyes shut.

A sliver of brown peaked out from under a nude eyelid, gleaming with surprise. Nothing had happened. 

Then it exploded.

Hermione ducked onto the ground, arms over her head, and burst out coughing as she inhaled smoke. After the bang stopped ringing in her ears, she heard the tiny crackle of fire from above her, followed by an irritated sigh and the sound of it being extinguished.

"Miss Granger, it is only the first day and you are already melting cauldrons? This does not show much promise for the remainder of the summer."

Hermione brushed back her hair from her face and slowly stood up, slightly dazed from the accident, and tried to sweep the soot from her hair. She coughed again to clear the dust from her lungs, smoothed her robes, and gazed at him in irritation. 

Snape did not look happy, and his frown was growing more pronounced by the second. The nerve of the girl, to make an accident and then look at _him_ like that, as if it was his fault!

"What turn of inescapable idiocy hindered you this time, Granger?" he said, almost sounding bored, as he rounded the desk and came upon the table, where the remains of the cauldron gurgled like a happy baby on its surface. The remnants of his instructions lay upon the floor, half burned with blackened edges. He picked them up and held them up to the light of the window, trying to read what he had written.

"I followed your instructions," she insisted stubbornly. Snape resolutely ignored her and squinted at the torched parchment that he held delicately between his fingers.

"What is that?" he muttered under his breath, looking at the same thing that Hermione had been puzzling over before. 

"I thought that it said 'sixty grams of catnip', sir."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione couldn't help but think that he was again beginning to sound like a spoiled child. "This obviously says eighty grams."

Hermione tried to grab it out of his hand but he quickly pulled it away, holding it above her head to taunt her. Her fists balled up on each side of her hips and she glared at him with fire in her eyes, her lips pursed in annoyance. 

"Let me see it," she demanded, holding out a red-striped hand.

"Ask nicely," he replied, a playful lilt in his voice. He noticed the corners of her mouth softened, but her eyes remained as stubborn and shining as before. He could tell that she was doing everything in her power to avoid asking for the parchment 'nicely'.

"Good sir," she said, clamping her teeth together and closing her eyes. Her eyelids twitched, closed tight and her eyelashes feathered together. "Would you be so kind as to lend me the parchment that is in your gentle hand?"

She slowly opened her eyes to see him standing there, the instructions still held tightly in his hand as he held it above her head. He was smirking smugly against a backdrop of flesh that shone pale in the gray sunlight. 

"You forgot the magic word." He was teasing her, but he wasn't cruel. Hermione's heart fluttered in her throat. She quickly swallowed it, staring at the paper that swung above her, swaying back and forth in the drafty room.

A smile reached across her face and she held out her wand before he noticed that she had withdrawn it, and as she yelled "_Accio_ parchment!", he immediately regretted buying her such a powerful wand. The delicate parchment tried to wriggle out of his fingers like a snake attempting to escape, and when it found that it couldn't, it sacrificed a tiny piece of itself to roll itself into the safety of Hermione's outstretched palm. With hungry eyes and a satisfied expression on her face, she turned and he stared at the back of her head, with the frizzy curls that cascaded past her shoulder blades, wishing that he could burn holes in her ears with just his eyes. He heard her unrolling the parchment and an immediate "ha!". Snape flinched.

She spun back around, the rouge of triumph in her cheeks, and her lips were stretched wide. "This is obviously sixty, not eighty."

"So you say," Snape said blandly. "I must admit that it was not clear, but it could have said either. You should have checked your resources before you completed the potion."

"You are my resource. Or have you forgotten that you wrote this?"

"Oh, oops." Snape said, poking his wand into the parchment. It immediately burst into flames and Hermione squealed and dropped it, stomping it under her foot. "Too bad." He gave a tiny smile in false sympathy and quickly added, "Well, I think that is enough destruction for today, and we have forgotten breakfast. I believe it is time for lunch."

He exited the room without another word, leaving Hermione to clean up the mess and stare thoughtfully at him, still unconsciously crushing the ashes of the parchment underneath her foot. 

§

She had eaten too fast. Snape, in the back of his mind, was somewhat hoping for intelligent conversation, even if it _was_ just with Hermione Granger, but had been sorely disappointed when the girl just bolted down her food and headed to the window, coloring with excitement. 

"It's snowing," she observed, trying to keep the childish excitement out of her voice. 

"Yes," Snape replied, pushing a floating carrot around his stew. The house elves still refused to cook his food to perfection, and Hermione had found a doorknob in her own. No wonder she had left the table early. "It tends to do that."

"It's fantastic here."

Snape dropped his spoon into his stew and looked up at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. She was still gazing longingly out the window. He chose his words hesitantly, carefully. "Do you really think so?"

A brown pupil glided into the corner of her eye, glancing at him before turning it back to the softly falling snow that was beginning to stick to stick in crisscrossed frost to the window. 

"Yes…the snow's so white. It's not dirty at all." She stuffed her hands into her pocket and allowed tendrils of hair to escape from her ears and swing into her face. "I think I'm going to go outside and…play."

Severus concentrated on keeping the corner of his mouth under control. "I thoroughly hope that you enjoy yourself, then."

Her head finally turned to the side, and she tried to keep her mouth from dropping open in amazement. He was actually going to let her go and…have fun? And he was wishing that she did so? What was wrong with him? Had the elves slipped poison into his lunch?

"Right…" The awkwardness was back in full force, and her jumper was suddenly very itchy. "Would you like to join me?"

He looked surprised by her offer but quickly composed himself, settling on staring at her stonily and placing a long-fingered hand across his fork. His dark eyes were just shadows across the dim room.

"No. I will stay inside today."

"All right." Did she sound disappointed? No, of course not, he was imagining it. He stabbed an under-cooked chunk of potato with his fork. And with that, Hermione was gone.

He could see her out of his dining room window, balling snow between gloved hands, her cheeks rosy from the cold. She looked up at him every so often, her face expressionless, portraying neither satisfaction that he had stayed inside nor dismay that he didn't join her in the gray, frosty, summer day. 

He had just nodded back to his stew, continuing to swirl vegetables through until the broth congealed, when he was startled out his chair by a loud thunk.

A large ball of snow had collided with the window, transforming into a white splatter that reached from pane to pane. He could see her eyes peeking from underneath before they were hidden from his view by half-melted snow sliding down the glass.

The coat rack immediately sprung to attention and leant forward toward Snape's seat as he tried to regain his composure. A dangerous smirk came over his face as he grabbed the green and silver scarf and wove it around his neck. It was payback time.

* * *

A/N: Sorry that updates are rather infrequent, school has been horrible lately. Also, for those who didn't recieve author alerts because ff.net was acting weird, Severus Snape's Diary was updated a little over a week ago. 

Thanks to: Anarane Anwamane, Electryone (Yes, if he survives. Mwahaha), Slim Shady, Joshua Glass (Smile? Hmm...), Imhilien, Ana Morales (wow, I'm incredibly surprised that I'm attracting a small crowd of people who aren't fans of SS/HG. You have no idea how flattering that is), xmaverickf14x, Akasha Ravensong, Chibidaima, yeoldecrazy1 (Actually, I don't really get tired of it. But I do appreciate longer reviews :)), Zvezdana (the title? It's an html tag, but I can't show you here since html tags will either be stripped or turn into html. Drop me an e-mail and I'll tell you how), Aindel S. Druida, aNNiie sNapez (you have no idea), krisleigh, Luna Writer (a very evil person, like me), and M'cha Araem ( X2. Yes, yes it was :). I meant it to be that way...).

And, as always, thanks to my beta Laiagarien.

Reviews are much appreciated!


	11. Winter Wonderland

**Chapter Ten**

_Winter Wonderland_

Little crystals of ice, like frozen tears, clung to her eyelashes as her large brown eyes fell to the ground, gazing at his boots as they crunched softly in the snow. It was cold but her breath was warm, floating across the bitter space and caressing his arm with the gentleness like that of doves' wings. His gloved hand reached out to her shoulder and he leaned closer, bending down to see her face… 

Severus shook the image away, peering around his gardens for site of the troublesome girl in the whiteness. His traditional sneer was set in place, the stark gray sky making little contrast with his white face, with only two spots of pale pink below his eyes adding color to his otherwise dour character. The dark greens and silver, that somehow refused to remain metallic-looking and instead settled on a dull gray, did little to add cheer to his appearance. 

He squinted, looking hesitantly through the gaps in the dying rose bushes and glancing up into the branches of the bare trees. The thorny ground, however, refused to thrust forward his young, annoying, headstrong charge, instead seeming to grow taller to hide her bushy hair from view. Snape's ears strained to listen for any signs of life, but all he could hear was his own heart beating and his own steady breathing. The sun was finally peeking through the heavy clouds, illuminating the thinning white flakes and brightening the snow-blanketed ground to the point of being blinding. He shielded his eyes, letting out a frustrated groan. Where was the bloody chit when he needed to peg her with something? 

"Hermione," he spat out through gritted teeth. "This kind of behavior is not to be toler-" 

He was quickly interrupted when something cold, hard, and wet hit him squarely in the forehead. Bits of slush began to slide down his nose and he snorted from the shock, inhaling them up into his nostrils. He broke into a fit of coughing while trying to wipe the wetness from his forehead, unable to ignore the laughter from somewhere that he couldn't figure out. It was very likely than she was in front of him, right under his nose, to borrow the insulting expression, but she could have done anything to the snowball to make sure that it had hit him in the forehead… 

With a deeper sneer, he swept away the rest of the slush with the back of his hand. "If you don't come out, you bloody annoyance, I promise that I will find you and hex you to pieces." 

"And what will you do if I do come out?" Her voice echoed through the white emptiness. 

"Most likely the very same," he answered honestly, not able to keep the growl out of his voice, and not really caring to. 

"Then I might as well stay hidden. I love sonorous-" 

"Quietus!" A stream from his wand grazed a rosebush next to a spindly oak tree. A tiny string of smoke lilted up into the air, quickly carried away on a chilly breeze. 

"Not even close," she taunted him. Where did the girl learn to be so bold? Had he done something that made her feel that she could act like this around him? He certainly hadn't given her permission to. Plans began to form in his mind…maybe he could bind her ankles and make her clean cauldrons until her hands turned black and rough, in need of gentle treatment… 

Hermione's thighs were beginning to ache, crouched down behind a hedge and leaning against the rough, unyielding wall next to the front door of the manor. Her face was rosy from the cold, her eyes gleaming mischievously, and not even caring to think what on earth she was doing. She had chucked a snowball smack into the forehead of the most feared Professor to ever walk the corridors at Hogwarts. If she had met her younger self, she was sure that she would have received a stinging smack across the face, but that Hermione, the sensible one, was currently not present. She felt like she had reverted back to the days long before that, when she had been young enough to appreciate the snow instead of loathing it for its burden of being inconvenient. 

With a wicked grin, she plied snow together with her warm hands and levitated it above her with her wand. With a flick, it hurtled toward the back of Snape's head. Not losing a second, Snape spun around and caught it in an outstretched hand. The snowball shattered and spread around him, dusting his hair with white flakes. 

Ron had always said that it seemed like Snape had eyes in the back of his head. Hermione no longer doubted it. 

She let out a squeal and ducked down, wishing that she could Apparate to somewhere safer, and she heard his hurried footsteps rushing toward her. With an energy she never thought that he could have, he sprung over the hedge and landed squarely next to her, hitting the ground with a sickening thud and a winded wheeze. 

He groaned and rolled over onto his back, holding his stomach. His hair was covered in snow, giving him an aged appearance, and his frown lines were engraved even deeper into his forehead. Hermione had never seen him looking so hideous, but couldn't help allowing him a little grin as she looked down at him, shuffling away slightly. 

"Don't over-exert yourself, old man." 

"Bugger off," he wheezed, clutching the fabric of shirt tightly with softly gloved hands. "I am your professor; you have no right to speak to me in such a manner." 

"I didn't force you to come out here," she said, standing and beginning to dust the snow off of her pants. She paused and tightened her scarf around her neck. "If I remember correctly, that was your own choice." 

She began to walk away. 

"So you're just going to bloody leave me here to die?" 

"Yes," she answered with a note that was too cheerful. The door slammed shut behind her. 

"Well, bugger you, then," Snape groaned, hefting himself painfully to a sitting position as he tried to catch his breath. He was beyond proper vocabulary, or anything that resembled acceptable words, at the moment. "Whoever taught you such manners?" 

§

A begrudging, soft knock came from Hermione's floor. She sighed, staring determinedly at her book and pretending that she was paying attention. Crookshanks was curled up on her pillow, batting playfully at her bushy hair every so often, getting brave enough every once in a while to yank on it painfully so that Hermione would yowl and whack his paw away. Crookshanks settled back with a smug smile as Hermione said, "Who is it?" 

"It is Beatrice, Mudblood. Beatrice has a letter for Miss Granger." Hermione could hear the house elf grinding her pointy teeth. 

"Oh no…" she breathed. "Come in." 

The door creaked open and the spiteful little house elf slipped in. What Hermione supposed were meant to be her eyebrows were lowered over her bulging eyes, the corners of her mouth turned down in a very Snape-like sneer. 

"Did Miss Granger enjoy her supper?" she asked, shuffling hesitantly toward her, making irritating noises on the carpet. 

"No, not particularly." 

"Good." A letter in a pink envelope plopped onto Hermione's nightstand, slightly startling her. "Enjoy your Weazey." 

Hermione's mouth fell open. "You _read_ my letter?" 

Beatrice was plainly displaying false horror - her eyebrows furrowed and her bulging eyes open even wider (how that was possible, Hermione didn't know, but it was)- but the corners of her mouth were upturned slightly. "It was an accident, Miss Granger. The letter fell open and Beatrice accidentally read it." 

Hermione frowned at the envelope, now able to discern little nail marks on the edges. "And accidentally sealed it, I see." 

"Of course," Beatrice sniffed, turning to make her hasty exit. She spun back around, looking contemplative. "Beatrice might like Miss Granger if Miss Granger wasn't a stupid Mudblood." 

"Well," Hermione replied with false sweetness. "I might like you if you weren't an insufferable, snot-nosed, cruel, and prejudiced house elf whose goal in life was to make me miserable." 

Beatrice looked momentarily offended. "That is only _one_ of the goals in Beatrice's life. Beatrice is not so stupid as to focus all of her attention on Miss Granger." With that, she turned on her tiny heels and left. 

"House elves," Hermione muttered under her breath as she ran her finger underneath the flap of the envelope. "I might actually feel sorry for her if she wasn't sane." 

With a pit of dread in her stomach, she could smell the overpowering scent of Ron's cologne coming from the letter as she opened it. Really, it was bad enough for Lavender and Parvati to do such things, but _Ron_? Not to mention that he didn't have the best taste in scents; whenever she hugged him, she couldn't get the stench of Quidditch Dreams (which smelled like a mixture of gasoline and freshly cut grass) out of her clothes for days. Crookshanks made a dissatisfied noise and crawled over to the other side of the bed, contenting himself by gazing out of the blank window. 

Instead of unfolding the letter and preparing to open it, it unfurled by itself, immediately bursting out with Ron's deep, post-adolescent voice. 

"Hey Hermione," he said. She could hear Italian opera music in the background, and started to wonder where he had come upon such a disgusting atrocity. "Ginny told me that she ran in to you…literally, knowing her…at Diagon Alley today. Before I continue, I just want you to know that I'm deeply sorry that you had to come in contact with such an annoying little-" 

"Ron Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley's voice said from the distance, sounding frustrated but too busy to scold him properly. "You do not say such awful things about your sister!" 

"I was only joking, Mum," Ron replied quietly, and Hermione could almost hear his shoulders slump down. She tried to fight off a smile but failed. "Anyway…where was I. Oh, yeah, I better keep this short, they charge by the second… 

"Well, I'm just wondering how your summer is going and if you're ever going to contact me again. You know…" He was beginning to sound angry. "I haven't heard from you in a while, and you were rather distant those last weeks of school. Is something going on? Is there something that you need to tell us? Come on Hermione, we're best friends. There's no need for you to hide anything from us…" He stopped, and she heard him mutter a curse word under his breath. "Sorry, I should probably save my accusations for later, eh? Anyway…um…I was wondering when you're coming to the Burrow, you promised us you would stay, and I'm planning to hold you to that. It will be fun. George and Fred have decided to grace us with their presence for the summer, and Charlie tells me that he keeps having dreams about flesh-eating turnips that roam London by night. They like you loads, though, they'd probably help you out a bit, I think, even if you did get a little big-headed when you were a prefect." 

What this supposed to be a letter in which he confessed his love for her? If it was, he wasn't doing a very good job. 

"Erm…sorry, I'm tired. But Harry and Luna want to send their 'hello's, and please, Hermione, come soon. If I find Harry in Ginny's room again, I'm going to need someone to hold me back. And Fred, George, Charlie, and Bill are much worse. And Luna…well…she's Luna. 

"Please come soon, Hermione. I'll be eagerly awaiting you. 

"Love, Ron." 

His letter was followed by an advertisement for Monsieur L'amour's Love-Grams for he had apparently gone twenty seconds over his limit. Afterwards, the envelope exploded into a shower of Quidditch Dreams-scented daisies and filled the room with the stench of Ron. The letter rolled up and nestled itself into Hermione's hand. She sighed. Crookshanks sneezed and let out an irritated meow. 

"Looks as though some one has an admirer," the mirror said bitterly from Hermione's wall. "I suppose there is more to you than the hair." 

"Thanks," Hermione replied with the same tone. "And he's never going to be an admirer, if he knows what's good for him." 

"Ooh…I detect a hint of hostility." 

"Congratulations." 

The mirror let out a robust sigh as Hermione's image came into view, approaching it with hands outstretched. She flung herself at the mirror and grasped her hands tightly around the golden-gilded frame and let out a hefty grunt as she tried to tug it from the wall. 

Her face was becoming red as she pulled on it with all her might, planting her feet on the wall to give herself more leverage. But the blasted thing wouldn't come off. 

"Is everything in this bloody house against me?" Hermione complained, putting her feet back on the floor and giving a frustrated sigh of defeat. 

The mirror chuckled. "Yes." 

There was another knock at the door, and Hermione couldn't keep herself from sounding irritable. "What do you want?" 

The door creaked open with a muted groan and a large, bulging eye squeezed through. 

"Beatrice," Hermione said in a huff. "I would appreciate it if you just went-" 

"Beatrice must not, Miss Granger," the house elf said, pushing it far enough open to allow her entrance into the room. "Beatrice must talk to Miss Granger, and it is a matter of life or death." 

* * *

Thanks to: Joshua Glass (I don't think you want to know), Aindel S. Druida, Fou Fou (wow...it's amazing that people are advising people to read my stuff. What is the world coming to?), Anarane Anwamane, Zephyre (mmm...), Stellar Snape (aw, he's always charming), CassandraTheEvil (oh, it can get weird.), M'cha Araem, krisleigh, Luna Writer (would it be so cruel? I don't really think so. He's Snape :)), xmaverickf14x, Imhilien, mirandam, KnightsBallad, Ana Morales, Lana Manckir, Akasha Ravensong, MoonRunner2003, Bree Mcgregor, Sliver-Crow (um...39 blushes), kLyn (I was thinking of sicking a werewolf on them, but that would be too cliched. Also, I couldn't do that to Lupin).

You lots' friends are very kind people, and I have a feeling I disappointed you all with this chapter. Ah well, review anyway, if you please.


	12. Mr Snape and the Curse

**Chapter Eleven**

_Mr. Snape and the Curse_

"What is it?" Hermione asked, jumping to her feet. "Is something wrong? Did something happen? Is Harry okay?"

"Miss Granger must learn to shut up and listen to Beatrice," the house elf said, rushing forward and pushing Hermione back on the bed. Her little tea towel was in disarray, her ears flopping around comically. Her bulging eyes were still narrowed suspiciously.

"Well, it sounds awfully serious," Hermione said, trying to defend herself as she fell back onto the cushions, her hands folded anxiously in her lap. "Is someone in trouble?"

"Only Mr. Snape," Beatrice answered, rushing to shut the door. The mirror let out another sigh and then remained quiet. "It's bad, it's very bad…"

"Sorry," said Hermione, not feeling at all sorry. "But what are you talking about? I just saw him, and he didn't fall _that_ hard. I didn't hurt him, did-"

"Probably. But that is not Beatrice's point." The house elf shuffled toward her with a very serious expression on her pointed face. Crookshanks growled at her and climbed up onto Hermione's pillow, burying his ginger head in the crack between the mattress and the bed frame. His tail swished irritably in the air, scattering orange hairs across the clean, white linen.

"Stupid beast," Beatrice muttered. "Makes everything dirty. Can't keep his hairs to himself."

"It's not like you clean in here."

"Miss Granger must shut her big mouth and listen to Beatrice," the house elf said stuffily, sniffing slightly.

Hermione frowned in irritation and settled back on the bed. "Did you lie to me? This doesn't at all seem very serious. And if it was, wouldn't you have already told me what's wrong? Come Beatrice, no telling fibs. What would the Master say?"

If possible, Beatrice's eyes grew even larger and her mouth rounded into an "O" shape. Her hands groped pleadingly at the bed skirt at Hermione's side, making the girl cringe.

"Oh no, Miss Granger, oh no. Beatrice never lies."

"But-"

"Mr. Snape is in trouble," she said, but instead of sounding panicked, she just sounded sulky.

"Yes, I believe we've gotten past that point."

"Shut up." She held out a knobby green hand to Hermione, whispering, "Miss Granger must swear that she won't tell him."

"Tell him what?" Hermione looked at the so-called hand as if it might sporadically explode. 

"Must promise she won't tell Mr. Snape."

Hermione let out a drawn out sigh. Her muscle twitched as she lifted her arm suspiciously, wondering what on earth Beatrice wanted her to do with her hand. "Fine, I promise I won't tell him whatever you're going to tell me."

"Pinky-swear!"

"Excuse me?"

The elf hooked her stiff, odd-feeling pinky around Hermione's. Hermione cringed from the contact and a wince came over the ugly creature's face, temporarily distorting the features.

"Pinky-swear," Beatrice hissed, leaning so close to Hermione that she could smell the scent of deluded tea spilt on the elf's tea towel toga.

"All right, I pinky-swear," she replied with a slight roll of her eyes. As soon as the words escaped her lips, an odd, numbing shock traveled from the crook of her pinky to the tip of her tongue, lingering there before it faded away. Hermione just stared blankly at the elf, wondering what on earth had just happened.

An evil little smile swept under Beatrice's nose. "There," she said with resolution, wiping her hand across her toga as if the Muggle-born had soiled them. "Now Miss Granger cannot tell."

"That's not fair!" Hermione protested.

"Miss Granger pinky-sweared."

"Swore."

"Sweared," Beatrice said stubbornly, making it obvious that she would never lower herself enough to have her grammar corrected by someone that wasn't Pureblood. Or maybe she was just prejudiced against her because of her hair, like the bloody mirror. No, most likely the first reason.

Beatrice's face suddenly crinkled up in agony. "Oh, Beatrice should not be doing this, she should not-"

"What?" Hermione posed, her curiosity finally piqued. "Why shouldn't you be doing this?"

"Because!" The house elf leapt from the floor and began to pace across the room, casting longing looks at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the open nightstand drawer. "It is Master's _secret_. Master would not be happy if he found out, oh no…"

"So…" Hermione whispered reverently. "Is he…suicidal?"

Beatrice scoffed.

"So I suppose not then. Why don't you just tell me?"

The elf let out a high-pitched wail and Hermione cringed, slapping her hands over her ears. When the thing calmed down she removed them and, after a short pause, said, "So…"

"Master Snape is under a spell," Beatrice spat out, sounding on the verge of hyperventilating. She immediately bent forward and rammed her head into the nightstand with such force that she bounced off of it and fell to the floor, rubbing her hair with one eye closed to the pain.

"A spell?" Hermione felt the familiar thirst for knowledge tickling at the back of her mind. "What kind of spell?"

"Beatrice cannot tell Miss Granger. She must not."

"Then why are you telling me this at all?"

"Because!" Beatrice yelped as she bit forcefully down on her own finger. "Miss Granger must find someone that could love the Master in twenty-five days!"

There was a long, anxious pause. Hermione leaned forward, her attention rapt and her throat dry. She licked her lips, trying to hold back a disbelieving smile. "What?"

"The Master must find returned love by his fortieth birthday," Beatrice said with watery eyes and a great heave of a sigh.

Hermione's face remained open in shock. "Snape? Who could love Snape? Who could Snape _love_?"

"That's why Beatrice needs Miss Granger's help," she said. "Miss Granger must help Beatrice find her."

"Find whom?"

Beatrice shrugged her tiny shoulders. "Anyone."

"What happens if I don't?" Hermione posed with lifted brows. Crookshanks had grown bored of their bickering and had crawled onto Hermione's knees, transforming into an orange blob molding into the shape of Hermione's lap.

Beatrice looked as though she may be on the verge of tears, her great eyes swimming in them. She spoke with a shuddering gasp. "Well, Beatrice thinks…thinks that the Master might die."

"What?" Crookshanks hissed as he was rudely dumped to the floor and he dashed under her bed, tail twitching angrily. 

"Beatrice thinks-"

"I heard you." Hermione gazed at the wall in blank wonder. "Who could do such a thing?"

The elf just shrugged again.

"Well, no wonder he's always been such a bastard. Must be difficult knowing you're not going to live past your fortieth birthday."

The elf looked distrustful and unsure of herself, glancing steadily at the floor. One eye was still closed and her left ear twitched back and forth. "So will Miss Granger help?" Beatrice asked hopefully, wringing her bony hands.

"It would be cruel of me not to…" Hermione eyed the elf suspiciously. She somehow, for some reason, thought that the creature might be a little…misinformed. If Snape was going to die by his fortieth birthday, wouldn't he be a bit more…eager to find a mate? He certainly wasn't doing himself any favors. Maybe he just didn't know how to be nice…

"Well…why not?"

"Beatrice thanks Miss Granger," Beatrice said, as if she had expecting her compliance, bobbing her head. "Yes. Now Miss Granger is a friend."

"Am I?" 

Beatrice's closed eye twitched. "As long as she doesn't do anything stupid." 

_Well,_ Hermione thought as the elf shuffled away, pulling on her ears. _At least I might finally get a decent meal._

§

Not so.

Hermione's new friend must have thought that, since she had divulged a "deep, dark secret" to her, she had to compensate by treating her worse than she had previously in Snape's presence. 

Before Hermione's dinner appeared that night, she had been hoping for steak, fish, maybe even just a cheeseburger with a side of chips, but when the top of her plate came off, she let out a mournful sigh.

Beatrice hadn't even tried this time. Instead of giving the appearance of an actual edible dish, she had served a main course of dead leaves from the garden with a side salad of iron nails.

Hermione clamped the top down on the plate and it clanged noisily, ringing through the dining room. Snape looked up at her and raised an incredulous eyebrow. 

"Oh, honestly," she huffed. "I thought you told them to start serving me real food?"

"I did," Snape answered, spooning through his chowder suspiciously. He had almost broken a tooth on a muffin earlier and was now being more careful with what he put in his mouth. "But they rarely listen to me unless my commands coincide with those of my mother."

"Your mother?" Hermione said in surprise. She was under the impression that the woman was dead.

Snape's mouth drew dangerously thin in a habit that he seemed to have picked up from McGonagall. "You would have thought that I'd have learned from the Black house, but sadly, her portrait hangs in this manor. You probably won't find it, the directions there are very complicated and hardly anyone ever comes upon it by chance."

"Your house is ruled by dead women." Hermione smirked. "How very appropriate."

"I'm not even going to pretend to understand you, Granger," he said, setting his spoon dismissively on the table. "And after your stunt today, I don't know why I haven't thrown you to the mercy of my guard troll…again. But yet I must ask whether you would care to go out to dinner rather than feast on something that could very easily kill you upon consumption. Or would you prefer a slow and painful death?"

They were going out? Snape didn't seem like the type that would enjoy the clamor of a busy restaurant. However, she was overwhelmed with a sense of extreme pity. Perhaps he could meet a woman there…

He just sat there, sneering at his soup, unaware of the smirk playing across Hermione's face and the evil plan hatching in her mind.

"Yes, Professor," she said finally, climbing to her feet and throwing her white linen napkin on the chair. "I would love to go out to eat." 

"Good," he said, taking the napkin from his lap and placing it with a sigh next to his unfinished meal. "But don't expect me to pay."

"Since when would you even offer?" Hermione asked, biting her tongue before she turned and started to walk toward the door. He would pay, he wasn't _that_ selfish. She didn't think. "All right, then I'll go change."

§

If the house elves kept doing this, Snape would either be broke or they would both starve to death by the end of the week.

By the time Hermione had come down from her room in a knee-length skirt and a sleeveless jumper, Snape stood in trousers and a button-down shirt - all in black, of course, with a wool jacket slipped over his shoulders that flattered his lean frame quite nicely. His hair was tied at the nape of his neck ("Muggles always insist that you keep your hair tidy," he had told her. "If I don't, they hand me scraps of leftover food and direct me to the nearest homeless shelter"), and Hermione couldn't keep herself from thinking that he looked rather dashing…for a man that was almost old enough to be her father. Or for a greasy man with bad teeth and that must suffer from a mild case of senility.

Good, she thought. _Some_ chit at the restaurant must think that he's attractive.

"How do you feel about Italian?" he asked as they stood in front of the fireplace in the Reynold house, Floo Powder held tightly in their hands. The fire jumped quickly about in the fireplace, making Hermione sweat under her jumper. Wherever they were going, she hoped they were leaving soon.

"I love it," she said. "Pasta is one of my favorites."

He nodded stiffly. "Very well then." He flung his arm around Hermione's shoulder, shouted out something that she couldn't understand crushed against his side, and they stepped into the fireplace.

When they emerged, Hermione blushed as she bent to pick up her purse, feeling as though she had just had a very intimate encounter with him as they spun through fireplaces, and she was beginning to feel a bit sick. Snape just stood there with lowered eyebrows, apparently unflustered. 

"You cannot handle Floo travel well, Granger?" Snape asked as he waited for her to gather her things, arms crossed stubbornly. "I never thought that spinning could be so very difficult. I suppose that you prefer to concoct the most difficult solution to every problem, and if it doesn't involve pain or effort, it cannot possibly be the correct way?"

_At least I don't take the easy way out of every problem, like Slytherins do,_ thought Hermione, but she didn't answer and just shook her head, slinging her purse strap over her shoulder and shaking the dizziness away. She had never traveled in the Floo with another person before…she had never even thought that it was possible. Apparently, it was. But why people would want to travel that way, she had no clue. Especially with Snape…that had not been the most appealing experience to ever grace the surface of her life. At least she hadn't eaten yet, otherwise she would have felt inclined to lose her meal.

"How incredibly pessimistic," he sniffed, barely waiting for her long enough to leave the small parlor that they had landed in. The door closed quickly behind the passing of his dark frame, blackening out the promise of a beautiful outdoor restaurant with candlelight lining the walkways and faint music in a different language in the background. Wondering why there would be a Floo-accessible fireplace adjacent to a seemingly Muggle restaurant, she wandered quickly after him. 

He surprised her by standing directly outside the door, so close that she almost ran into him when she pushed through. Instead of a startled grunt of surprise, he said in a hushed voice, "A favorite among…us and them. It was built to accommodate both."

"Where are we?" Hermione asked, looking around in self-contained awe. The place was so…romantic. It was like one of the places she stumbled into in her nightmares, when, in her sleep, Ron would take her there night after night and propose before dessert was served, proceeding to stick his tongue down her throat. It made her slightly uneasy, but knowing that Ron was most likely not present made her feel a bit better. 

"London," Snape answered as a thin woman with short blond hair wearing a red bowtie and an apron moved toward them, menus in hand. He must have sensed her apprehension, but felt that it was for a different reason entirely. "Don't worry, we won't see any of my former or current…acquaintances here. Purebloods don't tend to frequent Muggle populated areas." 

"But that's not what-" 

"Two?" the waitress asked, gesturing to them with the menus. Snape nodded and the girl commanded for them to follow, a tiny smile on her lips. They followed her down the winding sidewalk, past couples holding hands and old friends bent over goblets of wine, until they reached an area somewhat secluded by flourishing plants and flooded with soft candlelight. A knot was forming in Hermione's stomach…everything was like it was in her dream…except it was Snape and not Ron. That, however, was not much better at all. Something just didn't feel right.

"Don't worry, Miss Granger," Snape said as soon as the waitress had left with the promise that she'd come back to take their orders soon. "I have about as much romantic interest in you as I do in a pair of Dumbledore's old socks. I simply enjoy the atmosphere here."

"I never thought…" Hermione said, trailing off as she looked around at her surroundings. Glancing up, she saw that the moon was just a thumbnail, but impossibly bright for being in the middle of London. The stars twinkled merrily as if they were being viewed from the countryside. "You never seemed like a person that would enjoy dining in the outdoors." 

Snape made an indistinct grunt and looked the menu over, finger trailing down the wine list. Hermione took this opportunity to peer over the plants and look for any female in the vicinity, hoping that they could give her some ideas. She was on a mission that she must fulfill, and if she didn't take advantage of this setting, the opportunity might not come up again. 

A woman was sitting alone at a table nearby, wearing a short red dress with dark hair piled elegantly on her head. She looked to be in her mid-thirties and seemed just the type that the Professor might find attractive.

She was just about to say something when a man came up to the woman's table and sat down. Their hands reached out to each other, displaying two matching bands of gold on the ring fingers of their left hands. Married. That wouldn't do, unless Snape was the type that didn't mind stealing other people's wives. But, from having known him for a fair share of her life, Hermione was quite certain that he was not.

"What do you want to drink, Miss Granger?" Snape asked, still glancing at his wine list. "Their red wines are particularly nice…you are eighteen, aren't you?"

"Yes," she answered, looking over the menu with disdain. She was no longer one that cared for alcohol. Bad things always seemed to happen when she drank…and not even when she drank that much. Ginny would always tease her for being horrible at holding her drink. 

"I think I'll just have lemonade," she said hurriedly.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

She nodded.

He let out a sigh and said, "As you wish."

The waitress returned and took their orders for drinks (Hermione could have sworn that the woman laughed when she asked for her soda), and Hermione decided to jump at the opportunity before her chance vanished.

"Do you think she's pretty?" she asked as soon as the waitress (who's nametag read "Amy") was out of sight. 

Snape looked taken aback and let out a snort of surprise. If he had had his wine yet, Hermione would have bet that he would have choked on it. "Excuse me? Do I think who, exactly, is pretty?"

"Amy…"

He looked confused.

"The waitress."

"Oh." He tapped the table impatiently, looking at her with curious eyes. "Not particularly. I usually prefer darker hair to blond…" He glanced over in the direction of the bar where Amy was standing, preparing various drinks. "And she's too skinny. She looks as though she could impale herself on…herself. How on earth could a woman do that to herself? It can't be healthy."

"What about her?" Hermione posed, nodding at the married woman that she had been contemplating earlier. 

"What about her? She doesn't seem to be anyone spectacular." 

Hermione let out a frustrated groan. "What _do_ you find attractive?"

"Frankly, Miss Granger," he snapped. "I do not think that that is any of your business." 

"Fine, I'll tell you what _I_ find attractive then," she replied, sitting high in her chair and pausing long enough for Amy to set her lemonade down in front of her plate. She was informed that her dish would be ready soon, as well would Snape's three-cheese ravioli. Hermione had tried hard not to laugh when he had ordered…he never struck her as a ravioli type of man. When he had seen her smile, he had an expression that mirrored that which he would have before he deducted points from Gryffindor. Quiet amusement mixed with strong disdain.

"Miss Granger…" he said, his tone suddenly taking on a tone of warning.

"I'm just making conversation," she sniffed. "No offense, Professor, but you are not exactly the easiest person to have a conversation with."

"Thank you," he said wryly, drinking deeply from his goblet of wine. "Fine, continue if you must. But I cannot promise that I will listen."

"I wouldn't even dream that you would." She said this with a slight roll of her eyes. She crept closer in her chair, leaning over her empty space and taking a breadstick, rolling it between her fingers. "Well, I prefer intelligence over looks. Though looks do hold some importance…I have to be attracted to them, otherwise it would just be like snogging a brother…do you understand?"

"Oh yes. Completely."

"You don't need to be sarcastic," she shot back. "But most of all, he has to respect me for who I am, and not force me to do what I don't want. One or two children would be nice, but not-" She shuddered. "Multitudes."

"The Weasleys?" he said blandly, looking as though he was either barely holding on to consciousness or trying to feign extreme boredom. 

"Who else? But honestly, I don't like the fact that most men seem to think that the responsibility of repopulating the wizarding world lies solely on my shoulders." 

"I see."

"He needs to respect my boundaries, and not try to change me." She leaned back in her chair with a sigh and took a bite out of her breadstick. "Because I don't like to be changed, unless I am willing to correct a fault. And that's not very common"

"Ah."

They fell silent and remained that way until dinner was served, and while they were eating, Hermione tried to pressure him more and more to see what he found attractive in a woman. But he wasn't answering and instead insisted that she not fowl up her delicious alfredo by badgering him and truly appreciate its unique taste. When the bill came, Hermione turned deep red as he asked Amy to divide it between them. Hermione was only thankful that she had brought her purse, but also angry that he had taken her to a rather expensive restaurant with no intent of paying for her meal.

As she was about to get up and walk back to the door marked "Boiler Room" (through which they had made their entrance), Snape spoke suddenly, halting her and sending her bum crashing back down on the seat cushion.

"Hermione…" His voice held the tone that she had been waiting for…he sounded as though he was ready to divulge a secret. Though she wouldn't know if it truly was his type of tone…he had never necessarily divulged a secret to her before. He had called her by her first name, though, that meant _something_ good must be coming. 

"Yes?" She was trying to act innocent, but the wavering sweetness in her voice was giving her away. He must have noticed that something was going on by now, something besides curiosity taking place…what was he thinking? The blank look on his dark face gave away nothing.

"I would appreciate it…" he murmured. He bent so close that Hermione could smell the wine on his breath, and she shivered with the whisper of his voice. This might have even been a sensual experience if he wasn't Severus Snape: feared, rude, callous, and appallingly slimy Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

"Yes…" Hermione prompted him, trying very hard to melt her voice into a purr, in hopes of egging him on. 

Snape took another careful sip of wine, buying his time. "I would appreciate it," he said again. "If you would keep your nose the hell out of my business."

They returned home at ten o'clock, and Hermione yawned deeply as they walked through the entryway. Without a further word, Snape began to climb the stairs and begin to the assent to his room. 

He suddenly stopped.

"To answer your question, Miss Granger…personally," he said from the landing, looking down at her above his hooked nose and from a contemplative countenance. Dark shadows softened the harsh lines of his face, sinking his eyes into deep black pools. "I prefer someone that doesn't try to change who I am, either." With that, he swept up the stairs and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Hermione to stare at the portraits, who gaped at her and quickly went back to their respective activities, muttering new gossip among themselves.

"Don't worry, dear," a particularly sleepy witch with a pinched face said from the nearest portrait, her eyelids drooping heavily over large pupils. "He never was one for 'good night's."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the wait, at least this chapter is _extra_ long. And before I get any questions about sodas/lemonades (if anyone was actually paying attention enough to notice), lemonade in Britain is the equivalent of Sierra Mist or Sprite. At least, that's what it was when I was there.

Thanks to: Satern Mya, Lana Manckir, Ana Morales, c[R]ud[E]dly, Snapegirl51606 (hopefully I'll have more time to, now, since school is over. But I'm leaving, so I can't make any promises), xmaverickf14x, Joshua Glass, wackoramaco87 (I think you'll just have to see...), Anarane Anwamane, Gin, Sara Lily Potter, CassandraTheEvil (If Beatrice is still whole and alive at the end of this fic, I will be more than happy to hand her over to my fans), Aindel S. Druida (yes...probably), angerfish, Katrina Stardust (Yes, I don't plan on following it exactly. I'm really starting to get off the typical path, now), Zephyre, pickles87, Ansem Snape (yes, he is, but I still love him), DeLiRiOuS aka CAPTAIN obvious, M'cha Araem, Fou Fou (respect? Maybe. A good meal? Probably not), Luna Writer, Stellar Snape, Zvezdana (erm...sorry), Akasha Ravensong (That was just Beatrice. Bulging eyes have many talents), oO-Innocent Dreamer-Oo, Kris Leigh, Anna K, TiffanyKozlowski , kLyn, snape81 (ball scene...hmm...). 

Phew. 


	13. The Trouble with House Elves

**Chapter Twelve**

_The Trouble with House Elves_

Hermione had been enfolded in a particularly nice dream where she had been wandering timelessly through the largest library she had ever seen when she felt tiny, knobby hands tugging on her wrist. Crookshanks was growling in his sleep near her right ear and the room had grown somewhat cold over the night. She squirmed deeper into the blankets, thinking that the tugging had just been part of her dream. 

Then something hissed near her other ear. "Miss Granger! Wake up!" 

"What?" Her head snapped upward and Crookshanks jumped with a startled squeak of surprise. Her face careened back to the pillow as soon as she realized who the trespasser was. 

"Wake up!" Beatrice pleaded, tugging more firmly this time. Hermione felt as though the elf might tug her arm out of its socket. 

"What do you want, Beatrice?" Hermione asked, opening one brown, groggy eye to glare at the annoyance. The elf's ugly face was blurred by slowly exiting slumber. Hermione groaned and rubbed her weary eyes. "What time is it?" 

"Four a.m." Another groan was quickly interrupted. "Beatrice must know if Mudblood made any progress with Mr. Snape last night." 

"What do you mean, progress?" 

"In finding him a mate." 

"Beatrice…" She was _this_ close to breaking the thing's nose. _This close_. "It is four o'clock in the _bloody morning_. I am in no condition to answer your stupid questions. Can't you talk to me at a normal hour, when people are normally awake?" 

Beatrice shook her head, her ears flapping loudly. Crookshanks, annoyed, had lumbered over to the other side of the bed and curled into an orange ball, his ears pressed back against his head. 

"No. Four is a good hour. Mr. Snape is asleep." 

Hermione couldn't help but lift an eyebrow. "Asleep?" She had never thought about Snape sleeping before. She had never even seen him unconscious (willingly, that was. He had been under the club of the troll before, falling into a rather sleep-like state, but she was quite sure that he hadn't chosen unconciousness in that instant). He never seemed like someone who would sleep…he always had something to do, someone to intimidate, and didn't seem like the kind of person that would take the time to blink, nonetheless close his eyes for an extended amount of time. It was a ridiculous notion, she knew, but it was true. To think that he was in bed right now, in such a vulnerable state, seemed…intriguing, to say the least. 

"Yes…" Beatrice answered, sounding uneasy. She squeaked out, "Miss Granger doesn't want to see Mr. Snape sleeping, does she?" 

"Oh…no," Hermione lied, rouge flooding into her cheeks. "I was just wondering why he'd have to be asleep for us to talk." 

"Mr. Snape has very keen ears," Beatrice answered in a very reverent whisper. "He can hear almost _everything_." 

"Oh, right," Hermione said, turning around so her back was to the elf and rolling her eyes. "I've heard as much." 

"Well…" Beatrice prompted, appearing with a pop on Hermione's bedspread, crowding into a very irritated cat's spot. The bed shook as she made herself comfortable. "Was there any progress?" 

"Oh yes," Hermione said, closing her eyes. "Lots. Actually, he even proposed to the dishwasher. They're wedding will be held the Saturday before the school year begins and they'll honeymoon in his dungeons. You'll probably have your hands full with all the children they're planning to have. There'll be at least…oh, I think thirteen." 

Beatrice stomped her foot on the bed, causing it to shake. "Miss Granger is being sarcastic with Beatrice." 

"No, never." She let out an irritated sigh. "Look, elf, I sincerely doubt that Snape will die if he doesn't find love. And there's really nothing I can do. He doesn't want to change." 

"He doesn't have to change," Beatrice replied. She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. To confirm this tone, Hermione opened her eyes and saw that Beatrice's were overfilling with tears. An overlarge teardrop fell down from the house elf's cheek and plopped on to Hermione's pillow. "Beatrice loves him just the way he is." 

Hermione couldn't help but pull a face. "Well, get him to marry you, then. Would you please leave me alone so I can sleep?" 

The elf remained silent as Hermione buried her head back into the pillow, pulling the bedspread up to her shoulders and swallowing, trying to concentrate on bleak, black, wonderful space. But Beatrice was still there, pushing down the mattress and breathing through her mouth. Hermione hated it when people, or anything, for that matter, breathed through their mouths. The fact that it was Beatrice doing it made it even more irritating. Why on earth would Professor Snape employ a mouth-breather? 

"Perhaps Beatrice will, then." With a loud crack, the elf disappeared, leaving a hollow in the bedspread where she had been standing. 

Crookshanks looked at Hermione questioningly. 

"Oh, sod off," she said, ruffling the amused feline's fur. "You know she won't do anything." 

Crookshanks blinked slowly, unconvinced. A low rumble was rolling through his belly. 

"Well, anything incredibly stupid." 

With a secretive smile typical of cats and Kneazles alike, he settled his head by his paws and purred contentedly, watching with one yellow eye as his owner uneasily fell asleep. 

§

"Thank you, Beatrice," Severus Snape said, blowing on his cup of tea and watching the swirls of steam drift away from him. It smelled wonderful and not tampered with, just the way he liked it, and it even had his favorite spoonful of honey. Beatrice usually didn't give him honey unless she was very, very happy with him, usually stating that so much sugar wasn't good for the Master's health, though, personally, he was rather tired of having such a bony bum. Either way, the tea was much better than usual, and since he didn't think that he had done anything to warrant the said honey, he immediately became very suspicious. 

"Would the master desire anything else?" the elf asked, her hands collapsed in front of her and her eyes pried apart in an expression she must have thought to be endearing. "Crumpets? Biscuits? More tea?" 

"One cup full is more than enough," Snape answered, pulling the _Daily Prophet_ into his lap and quickly flipping through to the crossword. "Though…crumpets do sound appealing. I wouldn't mind a few." 

"Right away, sir." 

_Well,_ he thought as she disappeared. _I hope she's finally serving Hermione something edible…it's no good tutoring a starving student with her head in her stomach_. 

Beatrice quickly returned and pushed a plate of steaming crumpets topped with melted butter and black currant jam – his favorite - on to the nightstand. His mouth watered at the smell drifted up to his nostrils, and he quickly placed his crossword aside. 

"Again, thank you, Beatrice. And I expect that Miss Granger is receiving similar treatment?" 

"Yes, yes," Beatrice said, nodding deeply. "Of course. Is there anything else that Mr. Snape desires?" 

"No, that will be all for the morning. You are dismissed." 

He picked up a crumpet and bit into it, quickly falling into a world of black currants and six-letter slang words for female hippogriffs that ended in "r". It took him quite a while to notice that, contrary to his expectations, Beatrice hadn't disappeared but had instead crawled into bed next to him. 

"Beatrice…" 

She snuggled up to his side, laying a soiled hand on his chest (fortunately, he was wearing his customary gray nightshirt) and had wrapped her knobby ankles around his lower thigh. 

"Good Merlin!" Snape shouted, rolling out of bed to find, to his horror, that that hadn't succeeded in dislodging the house elf from his side. "Get off of me, you twat!" 

Sulkily obeying, the elf let go and slid down his leg, landing with a _thunk_ on the ground. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she buried her nose between her legs and sniffled loudly, leaving Severus to stare at her with a surprised expression on his face, swiping his hair behind his ear. 

"What has gotten in to you, elf?" he said, grimacing. "Are you mentally ill, or have you hit yourself in the head too many times with the golf club I found in your cubby? Honestly, out of all your stupid behavior-" 

"Mr. Snape," Beatrice interrupted so quietly that he could barely hear her above his ranting. "Beatrice has a request." 

"Well then," he growled. "If I answer it, will you get the hell out of my bloody room?" 

She nodded, blowing her nose noisily on her toga. Her eyes were overflowing with tears. 

"Out with it then!" 

"Mr. Snape," she began hesitantly, staring down at her knees. "Would Mr. Snape…Mr. Snape snog Beatrice?" 

Snape's dark eyes suddenly doubled in size and he stumbled away from the elf toward the silver-colored wall, backing into it and leaning against it for support. Green curtains grazed the top of his head, but he didn't notice. 

"What?" 

"Snog," Beatrice sniffed. "Rolphy said it was eating each other or something. He said there were lips and tongues and things…and that it meant that the people snogging loved each other. He said it didn't really hurt, but Beatrice doesn't think that Rolphy would really know, because Beatrice is quite certain that Rolphy has never been snogged in his life…" She took a deep breath and looked up at Snape with her large, watery eyes. "Would Mr. Snape snog Beatrice?" 

Severus tried to fight off the feeling that he was going to be suddenly, violently ill. The ugly thing was looking at him in a way that would be heartbreaking if his heart could break, but honestly, why couldn't anything that wanted to snog him have an acceptable amount of hair, and, perhaps, eyes that were, in fact, a normal size? 

"To be honest, Beatrice," he said, feeling himself give in to her hurt feelings, mentally berating himself for having gone so soft. "I don't know how to snog. Never snogged in my life. You don't want to be snogged by me. Now, please leave." 

"But you must snog someone before your birthday!" she shouted as Snape picked her up by the neck and started to walk toward the door, dangling her in front of him like she was a rotten bit of rubbish. 

"We're not supposed to speak of this. Especially now that Miss Granger is here." 

"Who cares about that wench?" she whined, twirling around in Snape's grasp, trying to come loose. 

"I do, and I'd really prefer it if she didn't know about the curse. Now, kindly, get out." The door creaked open and Snape stood there, holding her at least a foot above the ground. 

The elf pried at Snape's hands, trying to get them to release her neck. "It's too late," she wheezed. "Miss Granger already knows." 

There was a loud crack and Snape's hand closed around thin air. His arm hurt from squeezing so hard, and a glimpse in the mirror over the head of his bed told him that his usually pale face was red with fury. His mouth drawn, he snapped his fingers and said clearly, into the air, "Rolphy." 

An older house elf with gray hairs poking out of his ears suddenly appeared at Snape's doorway, looking flustered and ashamed as if he had just witnessed the entire event. "Yes, Mr. Snape?" he said shyly, crossing his ankles and clasping his hands behind his back. "Rolphy," Snape addressed him, folding his arms across his nightshirt and staring down at him, boring holes into him with his eyes. "Bring Miss Granger to my room. Immediately." 

"Yes, sir," the house elf muttered, turning around to go. 

"Oh, and one more thing." Rolphy turned around, obviously curious. A hint of a smile played on his lips as Snape added, "And make sure that Beatrice is kept at least thirty yards away from me at all times until she is able to control herself." 

* * *

Thanks to: artemisgirl (yes...he is a git. And yet, I still love him), Lana Manckir, oO-Innocent Dreamer-Oo, Fou Fou (well, I think it could get rather interesting now), Kris Leigh, Katrina Stardust (yes...I suppose this would be AU, wouldn't it? I somewhat disregarded the flashback in book five...oh well), Snapegirl51606, CassandraTheEvil, pickles87 (I hurried! For me, anyway), Akasha Ravensong, Satern Mya, Kim, hp-lover-fifi (I believe that it is very, very old tradition that it is improper to eat with your left hand (especially in public) because that is the hand that one would use to...erm...wipe with. It's not used anymore since there is now toilet paper, but Snape's family is very old fashioned and supersticious, and saw him being left-handed as a sign of bad luck. I hope that clears anything up, and if I'm incredibly, outlandishly wrong, be free to tell me), Aindel S. Druida, Audrey, Cassandra, Zephyre, MoJoBe, and Anna K.

Next chapter is progressing. Summer is wonderful, I actually have time to write! 


	14. An Exchange

**Chapter Thirteen**

_An Exchange_

Hermione didn't know quite what to expect after a wrinkled house elf with very large lips and gray hair sticking out of his ears showed up at her door, telling her that Professor Snape wanted to see her in his chambers, and right away. Gritting her teeth, she frantically ran her fingers through her out of control hair, pulled down her nightgown under her dressing gown, and followed the elf, whose name she had learned was Rolphy, out of the door and began to follow him down the hall. 

"Dead girl walkin'," an overweight wizard with several missing teeth said from a portrait as she passed. Every other painting was quiet, even the twin serpents over the bathroom across the hall didn't hiss as they walked by. 

"Um…excuse me," she said before they entered the landing on top of the stairs of the entry hall. The elf kept walking, entranced in his own little world. "Excuse me? Rolphy?" 

He finally stopped and turned around, ever so slowly, and Hermione suddenly felt like she knew this house elf from somewhere. It was then that it struck her - no matter how odd it seemed - that if Rolphy was human, he would bare a striking resemblance to Mr. Ollivander. 

"What exactly…" Hermione began, pausing to clear her throat. "What exactly does he want to see me for?" 

Rolphy just looked at her, unblinking, as if he was just processing what she had said, weighing it slowly in his ears. "Oh," he finally said, as if he had now only understood her question. "Rolphy doesn't know." 

"Of course he doesn't," she said with a roll of her eyes as they skipped the stairs completely and rounded the landing to the opposite door, directly above the one that Hermione had intruded through days (it seemed like years) earlier. 

The trek seemed to lengthen immediately, heading a different direction than the way that Hermione had traveled before. The hall seemed to continue and wind and turn infinitely; the walls had become bare what seemed like miles back, and in some places she could see dull gray light or the flutter of shadows through gaps in the stone. When they had gone so far that Hermione could hardly bear it anymore and was ready to collapse on the floor and nurse her bare, sore feet, they halted abruptly. 

The end of the hallway had come about suddenly, almost as if it had come out of nowhere. Either it had or Hermione had become so entranced with the patter of four feet across carpet and stone that she hadn't noticed that they had approached the end until it was right in front of them, though she seriously doubted the latter. 

And of all the portraits, statues, or paintings that she had infrequently imagined guarded Severus Snape's private quarters, she was still surprised by his choice. His carefully chosen guard was, indeed, a portrait of himself. 

"Professor Snape?" she questioned as the elf pushed her toward the glowering figure. She had often thought that painters were paid to soften harsh features and accentuate the most striking and pleasant. This artist hadn't done a very good job. His nose was comically exaggerated and overshadowed a thin, overly-small mouth, while his eyes, lacking the brilliance that they so often harbored, stared steadily out from beneath lowered brows. His voice was still the same, however, and, unfortunately, so was his personality. 

"No," Snape said, sounding incredibly bored. "I'm not Professor Snape. I believe you are in the wrong wing of the manor. You will have to make the agonizing journey back to the entrance hall and take a tumble down the stairs, then you will see him. Though I can't promise that he'd take care to help you after your little fall." 

"Look," Hermione replied, her patience running thin on little sleep and the hunger gnawing away at the pit of her stomach. "It was not my choice to come here. If I don't get to see him…you, I will blame it on you…him, and I don't think that he'd…you'd be very happy about that." 

The portrait Snape rolled his eyes but unlatched himself from the wall. It creaked open a bit, beckoning Hermione to come closer with soft, glowing candlelight, stirred in with the gray sunlight of dawn, sneaking through the crack. 

"Don't touch anything unless you plan on paying for it," he called after her, slamming shut and trapping her inside. There appeared to be no handle on the other side of Snape's portrait. She was stuck inside until Snape showed up, or until she found another exit. 

She was in a cozy study, with a meager and disappointing supply of books placed in a rather disorderly fashion in two mismatched bookshelves against the wall. Dusty armchairs, that looked like they were rarely sat in and most likely infested with spiders, were huddled around a cold fireplace in the opposite corner, and a roll-top desk scattered with various papers sat nearby, looking to be the most used object in the room. She was rather surprised by the room's condition; she had always pictured Snape as a clean freak: his potion supplies were always in order, his students' essays marked (however unfairly) the class following their due date, the neat, tidy appearance (besides his hair). Either he wasn't truly as clean as she had thought, or he had ordered the house elves not to touch anything in this room. Of course, that was also highly likely, depending on what sort of papers were scattered around. She was also quite certain that the portrait of Snape meant what he had said about not touching anything…she was sure that she would pay, but not in any currency that she knew of. 

There was only one other doorway, hiding in the shadows near the bookshelves, made of scarred and knotted wood that looked as though you would be speared by a sliver as soon as you touched it. The knocker, looking as though it was made of iron, was rusted and Hermione doubted that it would even budge. But it did, and its rapping against the door was solemn and hollow. 

The door swung inward on the second impact, revealing a somewhat red-faced, befuddled Professor Snape. He was wearing a gray nightshirt that landed just at his knees, revealing pale skin riddled with dark, coarse hair, stretching down to large, knobby feet that Hermione couldn't help but think were quite ugly. She wondered vaguely why he hadn't taken the time to shrug on a dressing gown. 

"What took you so long?" he growled as he moved aside to allow her entrance to a rather comfortable looking bedroom with plush bedding and carpet. Sheets of dark green velvet and cotton were wrapped and twisted in an unmade mess on a humungous sleigh bed; the bed was actually a pleasant surprise - she had been expecting a four-poster. Though now that she thought about it, this made more sense; he was a quite paranoid man, and probably wouldn't be able to sleep with curtains hiding his view of possible intruders, dreamed, imaginary, or real. 

Unlit candles hung from a crystal chandelier in the center of the ceiling, and cold but somehow cheerful sunlight poured through the windows. The room didn't seem like it would be a very affective place in which to brood. 

"I followed the elf," she answered with an uneasy shrug. "It took forever. I was half-expecting to run into David Bowie." 

He just looked angry and confused, so Hermione decided to cover her tracks and babble on. Her hand found the corner of a desk and she leaned on it for support. 

"So what exactly did you want to see me for, Professor?" 

"Don't pretend that you do not know," he demanded, latching his hands together behind his back and fixing her with a penetrating stare. 

"Sorry, sir, but I don't." 

"I'm not stupid, Granger, and neither are you." Goodness, that sounded fairly similar to a compliment. "I am quite aware of your intentions to marry me off." 

Hermione's heart suddenly plummeted into her stomach. "What?" 

"You heard me." 

"N-no," she stuttered with a shake of her frizzy curls. "I would never…I was just curious…" 

"I know very well that you were not curious about this certain subject. You were very close, I believe, to patronizing me entirely. I do not tolerate being patronized. Nor do I enjoy people meddling in my love life, whether I have one or not." 

"But-" 

"Shut up and let me finish." He began to pace from side to side, eyes wandering across the floor. "I believe that you know of my…condition. Am I right in also guessing that it is your fault that I was recently molested by one of my very own house elves?" 

He had been expecting an answer from her, a simple "yes" or a "no" of denial, maybe even an explanation, but he had not expected to hear a surprised laugh escape her lips. His eyes narrowed dangerously. 

Hermione had started laughing, and she could not stop. Her laughter, when warranted, was difficult to contain, even though now would be a very, very good time to _stop laughing_. 

He glared at her, impatiently waiting for her to stop. She finally was able to calm herself, her cheeks pink, and with an embarrassing snort, she became silent. 

"Are you finished?" he asked, lips pursed irritably. 

She tried to hold back a misplaced smile. "Yes." 

"So answer me." He stopped pacing, straightening himself to his full, towering height, his right hand placed lightly on the foot of his bed. "You know, don't you? And don't try to act innocent, it's not going to work." 

She signed and slumped against the wall, bringing a palm to her forehead. "Fine, yes, I know." 

There was a moment of intense silence before Snape exhaled softly, breathing out a large gust of air through his hooked nose. The room no longer seemed very cheerful but instead it seemed to be growing smaller, and it started to feel very, very stuffy. Hermione pulled on the belt of her dressing gown, feeling her face flush. 

"Well," he said finally, causing Hermione's shoulders to sag in relief that he had broken the silence at last. She thought that the lack of sound might reach out and strangle her. "What do you think this warranties? The cancellation of the rest of our studies would be appropriate, as well as reimbursing me for the Galleons I have spent on keeping you here. Of course, that would mean that you wouldn't receive your Potions N.E.W.T, but perhaps you could go to work in a…oh, I don't know, Starbucks?" 

"Sir-" 

"But," he interrupted, holding up a finger to silence her. "I believe that another course of action could replace it, since you seem so adamant on receiving your bloody N.E.W.T." 

Hermione chewed on her lip, wondering what this alternate "course of action" could be. Maybe he would tie her to a tree and let Beatrice loose with various objects to throw at her. Though dripping poison into her food and dumping her lifeless body somewhere in the woods seemed a lot more Snape-like. Of course…he made this sound like she would be alive to do it, and still receive her N.E.W.T, which didn't seem to fit together very well. She was making herself confused. 

When she looked back up at him, his eyebrow was lifted and it looked as though he was trying with some difficulty, and failing, to hide a smirk. "Battling with yourself, Miss Granger?" 

"I'm…I'm just wondering what you're planning to do with me, sir." 

"Well," he began pacing again, his lank hair drooping down to hide his face from view except for the very corners of his down-turned eyes and the tip of his curved nose. His sallow skin was even whiter in the dim morning light, and the hairs on his legs gleamed in a mix of ebony and silver. "It's not exactly concerning what I'm doing with you, it's more…what you can do for me." 

Oh Merlin, this was going to be worse than she thought. 

"Um, what exactly did you have in mind?" 

He screwed his face up, his eyes narrowed, like a baby about to burst into tears. But she knew Snape, and he wasn't one to start crying at random moments, if ever. This seemed like an expression - though she had never seen it twist his features before - that told he was about to say something that he truly, truly didn't want to say. 

"I…want you to teach me," he muttered, so quietly that Hermione could barely hear him. 

She heard him, all right, but that didn't stop her from asking if she had heard correctly. "What?" 

"I want you to teach me," he growled. "How I should act…to attract a woman." 

Hermione knew that Ron and Harry would eat house elf to be here right now, hearing Snape request her help for his love life. She also knew that if she didn't milk this for all it was worth, they would kill her. 

"I believe," she answered with lifted eyebrows, a smirk pulling up the corner of her mouth. "That you have no trouble in that area." 

"Beatrice is not what one would commonly call a 'woman', thank you," he replied wryly. "Don't make this harder for me than it already is. You mustn't forget that I hold the keys to your future right now, and I wouldn't recommend that you nip that hand. You never know when that hand may…shall we say…slip beyond the veil?" 

She just swallowed. 

"Very good, Miss Granger. Now, I think the exchange is fair. Lessons for lesson. We can hold these sessions after I hold mine…what do you think?" 

"That…that sounds good," she stuttered, amazed at her luck and his openness to her opinions. What made him think that she would be a good teacher of the ways of women was a mystery to her. She had rarely even had female friends; Ginny was her only true girl friend throughout her time at Hogwarts. Had he not realized that her two best friends were male? 

"You are dismissed then," he said with a wave of his hand. "You may take the other entrance, I'm afraid the one in the study doesn't open from the inside." 

"Other entrance?" 

He moved toward the wall opposite of the bed, tapping a plank on the wall with the tip of his wand three times. The wood wobbled slightly, as if it was made of water, and then gathered itself into two sections and split apart, revealing an open doorway that opened right into the entrance hall. 

Impressed, Hermione moved toward the doorway, hugging her dressing gown around herself. 

"Oh, and Professor," she said just before she stepped through the doorway. "The painter of your portrait didn't do a very good job portraying your likeness, I hope you didn't pay him very well." 

He blinked slowly as she stepped through the doorway, chin tilted upward lightly. 

"It's a self-portrait, Miss Granger." 

Hermione turned around to stutter her apologies, but it was too late. The portal had already closed, leaving a stone wall in its wake. Face red with embarrassment, Hermione walked back to her rooms to begin her breakfast and plan for what, if anything, she could teach him about the world of a gender she barely even knew, herself. 

* * *

A/N: In case anyone is wondering, I'm updating rather often because I feel guilty. I'm going to be leaving soon (and taking care of my mother, since she has recently had knee replacement surgery), and I'm probably not going to have any updates after next week until August. Bear with me, and I'll update as soon as I can, either when I get back from my holidays or in the five day stretch when I'm actually home. Thanks for your patience.

Thanks to: babydoll125, HunnySnowBunny (okay, thanks for reassuring me. The same thing happened to my English teacher, except he grew up in New Jersey...), artemisgirl, Audrey, MoonAssassin13, Snapegirl51606, Katrina Stardust (hopefully it will never be stuck in plot limbo. I think I might have the entire story figured out from here...), Kaaera, pickles87, blackdragonofdeath13, EvieBlack, SeasonGrrl, Kim, thekidwonderladymistress, MidnightPrincess, Satern Mya, Fou Fou (well, I don't know about Hermione...), Zvezdana, Lana Manckir, Cow as White as Milk, yeoldecrazy1 (sorry, he wears night shirts. I felt like making him canon), Blatant Discontent, and Joshua Glass.


	15. A Lesson in Love

**Chapter Fourteen**

****

_A Lesson in Love_

The Potions lesson passed successfully, if not easily. Hermione fumbled around, almost drawing a deduction of house points (and a retort that she didn't go to Hogwarts anymore), when she knocked a jar of black widow legs off the tabletop. She swooped and caught it just before it hit the floor, in an act that she had to praise herself for - she was never known for her spectacular saves. That was a Keeper's job, not a student's. 

"I would insult your clumsiness if I didn't need to ask for your advice," Snape commented with raised eyebrows as she set the jar back on the table, face burning. 

"I would insult your need for my advice if I wasn't inclined to clumsiness," she smartly replied, diving back into her Potions work as if she hadn't said anything at all. He took the comment with silence that lasted the rest of the lesson, though she couldn't help but notice that the air in the chilly lab was thick with satisfaction and, dare she guess, slight amusement. 

After a light lunch (which was actually edible, for once. Beatrice must have been removed from the kitchen), they moved to a parlor after the dining room, with cups of tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits. Hermione sat stiffly on a giant cushion, staring wide-eyed at her steaming tea. She felt somewhat glazed over, like she had had too much to eat and was ready to lay down for a nap. But the blood racing through her wrists and collecting in her face kept her hot and awake. 

Snape looked just as uncomfortable as she, except considerably paler. A nibbled-on chocolate biscuit sat on his knee, and Hermione couldn't help but worry idly that it would stain his woolen trousers a suspicious brown. 

"Well," he said finally, pushing the plate across the table toward her. She stared at the biscuits, suddenly becoming self-conscious; she could hear Parvati's voice in her ear, whispering that her thighs had already taken enough of a toll from the puddings at school. She just shook her head and looked up for him to continue. "Do you have any introduction for me?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, taking another bite from his biscuit and making Hermione's mouth water. They looked delicious. "A class outline or a marking policy? Are there any rules for which I can be reprimanded?" 

Either Snape had an odd, ironic sense of humor, or he was just trying to bother her. She was quite certain that he didn't have an odd, ironic sense of humor, at least when it came to her, and settled that he was trying, and succeeding, to push her buttons. 

"It's all for your own sake," she said with a slight sigh, leaning back in the couch and crossing her ankles. "The only rules are the ones that you make for yourself. I suppose it's the least I can do for you tutoring me for free." 

"Whoever said that I was doing it for free?" he asked, a bit too seriously. "I thought that these certain lessons were proper compensation for you butting in to my personal life." 

She only glared at him, and he smirked at her cruelly, daring her to say something. She could only sit there, a sour expression across her face, masking the curiosity of wanting to see him relax. The only times she had seen him sitting before were at tables or at desks. How did he sit on a couch? Would he completely relax, his legs apart, like her father did as he sat at the telly with a beer resting on the slope of his stomach? Hermione doubted it; he was too refined and too well raised. She entertained the notion that he would cross his legs like a girl, but she suppressed a giggle and decided that she would have to wait and see the little insight into his character. 

He finished his biscuit as Hermione set her stony gaze on him, set his tea down, and sat in a position with his legs slightly apart, bent forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his chin propped up on his palm. She found the position utterly…Snape-like, for lack of a better description. 

"I'm waiting." 

She snapped back to attention, realizing that she was staring. She managed to stifle a yawn as she said, "F-for what, exactly?" 

"For my lesson to begin," he stated, his voice grating as he launched into something he obviously did not want to say. "On how to attract a woman. And I'd prefer if you kept these conversations between us secret? I would be rather angry to find out that Weasley has learned anything about my personal life, especially as it could have a direct effect on your percentage in Potions." 

"I hadn't even thought of it," she lied. 

"Yes, you have," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Honestly, Miss Granger, for being somewhat intelligent you are an atrocious liar. Though…I suppose that is my comeuppance for teaching a Gryffindor." 

She very nearly blushed as the compliment in disguise, but decided to move on to a proper…if such a word was appropriate…subject. "Professor, I'm not quite sure what to tell you." 

"Well," he posed, beginning to sound bored himself. "You are a woman, are you not?" 

"Well, yes, but-" 

"Women are not known for being particularly quiet. If I remain silent, you're bound to talk eventually." 

She couldn't help but scoff. "Well, you seem to already know so much about women. What on earth am I doing here? You already have Beatrice anyway…" 

"Miss Granger," he said, his tone threatening, as she was about to get to her feet, babbling nervously. "I was serious in my request. Please remain seated." 

She sighed and collapsed back on to the couch from her suspended position, while he grumbled his disapproval at the mistreatment of his furniture. Particles of cloth and dust flew into the air, and Hermione smelled the bitter leavings of what must have once been red wine. The room was painfully dull, with dressings in gray and muted browns and greens. They looked like they might have been vibrant once, hundreds of years ago, when she, as a Muggleborn, wouldn't even be allowed into a Pureblood's parlor. A few oddly matched bookshelves had been crammed into the corner, and their contents, like those in Snape's private study, also proved to be greatly disappointing. 

"Well," she said finally, fixing her eyes on the light brown stain on the knee of Snape's trousers. "I suppose I can start off with the basics." 

He lifted a black eyebrow in speculation. "Basics. And those would be…" 

"Erm…behavior, manner of speaking," she shot an innocent, unassuming look at Snape's lank hair, "Hygiene. It's not that difficult, even an idiot could figure those things out." 

"Then, pray," he leaned forward more, his voice taking on an almost dangerous quality. His black eyes were disturbingly entrancing. "Enlighten an idiot." 

"Well, most women don't usually like being told that they're stupid," she said nervously, knowing he wasn't going to take this very well at all. "And chivalry is something that's rare nowadays, so if you open a door for her, or carry her things, or pay for her dinner…" He looked mildly amused. "You will make her quite impressed." 

"You say 'most women'," he said plainly, taking a sip of his tea. "Not all?" 

"Not all women are the same," she answered, trying to avoid rolling her eyes. "That would be like saying that you have the same exact interests as Harry Potter. Though I'd never think that you were one for short, rambunctious red-heads." 

"Thank you for assuming correctly," he said, frowning. 

Hermione let out another sigh and sat back in the couch, clutching the teacup between her hands. "I really hope you know that I am not the best person to consult regarding these manners." 

He looked uninterested, but asked anyway, "And why ever not?" 

"Erm..." Something pulled at the corner of Hermione's lips. "The thing is…I don't really like men." 

His eyes grew wide and he managed to stutter out, in a very un-Snape-like manner, "W-what?" 

She bit back the impulse to laugh at his reaction. "I was only joking." 

He relaxed visibly, glaring at her over the rim of his teacup. "Yes, how funny. And I suppose that hitting a woman isn't acceptable behavior, either?" 

Mimicking his tone, she said with a bold smirk, "Thank you for assuming correctly." 

"I am not in the mood for cheek." 

"You're never in the mood for cheek," Hermione replied glumly, finally deciding to take a biscuit. Screw Parvati. The girl never would gain a pound; and Hermione hoped in annoyance that her eating habits would catch up with her in the future. 

His tone was full-on snark, sarcasm, and he sounded incredibly annoyed. "And it seems, yet again, I must teach myself. Do you have any books or, perhaps, magazines that I could borrow?" 

Stifling a giggle at the thought of Snape ruffling through the August issue of Teen Witch Weekly, she regained her composure and answered, very straight-faced. "No, I can do this. I just need some prompting, that's all." 

"Fine." She knew he hated asking questions, almost as much as he hated answering them. He hated being on the receiving end of a lecture or an answer…it proclaimed ignorance. "What is usually found attractive? Physically, I mean." 

"It really depends on the person," Hermione answered. "Some people have…things." 

"Oh, how wonderfully descriptive. Do go on." 

She grunted in frustration. "I mean, they are attracted to certain things. Some girls like dark hair, some girls like light hair, some like their men thin, some fit, some larger. It's just a matter of preference. I have a friend back home who's mad for men with big noses." She blushed, realizing how what she had said related to the bemused man sitting across from her. 

"Since there are so many different preferences, then," he said plainly in a tone that betrayed his thoughts that this was going nowhere. "Tell me what you find attractive." 

"Oh." A warm blush swept across her face. She hadn't been expecting that. "Well…I suppose I have a…broad range. I dated Viktor Krum for a while…" She fumbled to a stop, disbelieving that she was talking about her love life, even lack thereof, with the surly Potions Professor. Especially, as she had noticed on more than one occasion, her ex-boyfriend and the Professor had quite a few physical similarities. She found that fact quite disturbing and disconcerting. "Then there's Ron…he's all right looking, I suppose, though his eyes are kind of far apart…" 

"I didn't ask for a list of your conquests, Miss Granger," he said flatly. "I asked what you find attractive." 

Oops. "Well, it's just that…I don't know. I can't define what makes a man attractive. He just…is or he isn't. It's the simple fact. Though, Professor Snape, looks aren't everything. You know the sayings, Professor, 'never judge a book by its cover' and rubbish like that." 

"I am well aware of that, Miss Granger," he replied with a dismissive tone, setting his teacup on the table and climbing to his feet. "I think that's enough for the day. You are dismissed." 

She grabbed another biscuit in a hurry and set her cup beside the Professor's. "I thought I was the teacher," she mumbled as Snape walked toward the door, dark robes and shadow trailing behind him. 

He heard her and turned just as she was going to leave. The expression on his face was severe and dangerous, like the expression he always had when there had been an accident during a lab, or when Dumbledore assigned him chaperone duty during a Hogsmeade weekend. 

"Well, Miss Granger," he said, stepping backward through the door. "As you said yourself, some things aren't always as they appear." 

_I have to hand it to him,_ Hermione admitted as she rushed after him, nibbling veraciously on the biscuit in her hand. _He's very good at his exits_. 

§

For having given her the idea in the first place, he wasn't handling it very well. Snape's request for media of some kind, anything that could teach him the mysteries of, as he called them, 'the other sort', had led Hermione to her own vast collection of books (all of the ones that she could fit in her trunk, which left very little room for clothing), where she selected what she believed to be one of the greatest romances of all time: _Romeo and Juliet_. 

"This is rubbish," Snape proclaimed as Hermione read aloud the party scene where the doomed lovers made eye contact from across a room and fell instantly in love. "No, this is beyond rubbish." 

"It's Shakespeare," Hermione replied hotly, her ears burning. "And I would appreciate it if you could pay the man some respect." 

"He's dead!" Snape said, just as annoyed, crossing his arms in frustration across his chest and glaring at her steadily, his black eyes seeming to want to burn holes into the faces on the front of the book. "And frankly, Miss Granger, I don't feel that dead people, if this Shakespeare can even be considered a person (he was undoubtedly Muggle, and a very stupid one at that), really expect our respect. It's not as if they can hear us." 

"What if he was a ghost?" replied Hermione dimly, flipping the pages. "And I'm not too sure about Shakespeare being a Muggle…there's something in here about an apothecary and a potion. Perhaps he's one of your ancestors?" 

"Never tease about such a thing," he said huffily, like a flustered child. "In fact, never tease at all." 

She sighed. It was indeed a Monday, and a particularly sunny one, at that. The sun had finally decided to come out, and what was once snow was now lying in melted puddles through the garden. And here she was, stuck inside, reading passages of _Romeo and Juliet_ to a person she doubted would ever understand the true magic and complexity of love. Or just love as a whole. 

"They're teenagers," he said, still in his stony position with his stony gaze. "I doubt that what they have can be called true love. It's obvious that the boy just wanted a good shag-" 

"Professor!" protested Hermione in both shock and surprise. She had never expected Snape to use such a word, she hadn't even expected that he'd known what the word "shag" meant. She tried to cover her surprise up by doubling back to her protests of old, when she had demanded respect for the play as a work of a serious playwright. "It's a piece of art!" 

"And a seriously under-researched one, at that." 

"Well, you just seem to know so much about love, don't you?" Hermione said, snapping the book shut. "I suppose you should be giving me lessons?" 

He was becoming exasperated, fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirtsleeves. "I'm just wondering if you have anything…what's the word…realistic?" 

She did have to coincide, the setting and circumstances were somewhat…out of place for today's Wizarding Britain. 

"Well, there's _Titanic_, but that's not even out on video yet…" Or was it? She couldn't remember. She doubted that a VCR would work here anyway. 

"I'm asking for real stories, Miss Granger," he said. "Not some half-baked ideas worked out in a historical background full of sword-fights and anachronisms. Do you, perhaps, have anything that could satisfy me?" 

She thought for a second before answering flatly, "No." 

Snape walked out of the lesson without so much as a good-bye, leaving Hermione to clutch the poor play to her chest and glare after him. 

The lesson had been a disaster, but at least now she knew that the Professor definitely did not believe in love at first sight. That might make things a bit more difficult. 

Now, she decided, if she could just get him out of the house, it was time for a field trip. 

* * *

Thanks to: Lana Manckir, Moisie, c[R]ud[E]dly, Kim (no, definately not ugly), Kaaera, Aindel S. Druida, Blatant Discontent, Audrey, Joshua Glass, Kris Leigh, Fou Fou, pickles87, Satern Mya, oO-Innocent Dreamer-Oo, DeLiRiOuS aka CAPTAIN obvious, Cow as White as Milk, crystalclear8050, Rylee Smith (yeah...I figure that mentally unhealthy house elves were enough), Katrina Stardust (really? Snape has a reason for everything, from why he kicked Hermione out of his class in the first place to this...I guess we'll just have to wait, eh?), aNNiie sNapez, Zephyre (Really? I haven't seen American Pie 2. Frankly...I don't think I want to), Akasha Ravensong (x2), lupinite23, CHsqrlgrl, Ana Morales, Snaps, The Eternal Dreamer, angelfish2 (x2), Zvezdana (I think it's a bit of both).

All right, I probably won't be updating for a while, though I'll try to get another chapter of Severus Snape's Diary in before I leave. If not, or if you're not reading that particular story, I wish you the best until August (or whenever I find the time to update next).


	16. The Perfect Woman

A/N: All right, I lied. I somehow managed to type this out before I left for vacation, and I'm able to post this before I leave for my next one on the 21st. So the _next_ chapter probably won't be posted until August 1st at the very earliest (it's already done, though some tweaking might be done on it. You can surely last that long, can't you?). This chapter was the most fun to write, and I hope that you enjoy it as well.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

_The Perfect Woman_

Hermione remembered well the hours she had laid awake in her bed, staring at the canopy, listening to Lavender and Parvati's giggles as they mulled over their thoughts of the perfect man. She had stuffed the pillow over her head, told them, rather loudly, to stuff a sock in it, and finally just given up and listened to them, hoping for blackmail. They always had disagreements about everything, from hair color to height, and it became quite clear that their versions of the perfect man were actually quite different. And both quite impossible. Bitterly, Hermione had yelled over to them that the term "perfect man" was an oxymoron and that if they didn't shut up soon, she wouldn't be afraid to take away house points. The fact that, as only a Prefect, she couldn't take away house points was beside the point.

The fact that she was shuffling through magazines in her bed, with papers and books scattered around her like a librarian's war zone, was slightly embarrassing. Crookshanks didn't seem too happy with the fact that his sleeping quarters were being taken over by moving perfume and clothing advertisements. He swiped at a picture of an impossibly thin blond woman, who hurriedly ducked for cover while shouting silent curses.

Embarrassing indeed, except she wasn't looking for the perfect man, she was looking for the perfect _woman_

For Snape, of course.

She had been brainstorming for the past hour, thinking of his likes and dislikes, trying to discern what he could tolerate. Tolerance was good, at least it was a start. But could love stem from tolerance in just a matter of weeks? She doubted it, but she didn't really have a choice.

Would he be too picky when it came to looks? She doubted it, though she was quite certain that he wouldn't jump at the chance to snog someone who resembled Millicent Bulstrode's great aunt Edna. 

After an hour of going through various physical specimens that all somehow looked the same, Hermione gave up and swept the magazines off of the bed. She couldn't be picky. _He_ couldn't be picky. He only had a few weeks. She finally settled on the facts that he would prefer a woman with at least some level of intelligence, preferably a larger IQ, and who was around his age if not a little older. He never did seem to particularly care for anyone younger than him. Or older than him, for that matter. Or anyone, really.

The past week had gone better than their first few lessons. She had given up on the great romances of English literature and had moved on to something that he was more likely to accept, though she knew he wouldn't like it any better. At least he now had taken it upon himself to accept some responsibility and chivalrous values. He was an incredibly stubborn man, but Hermione was confident that she could pound _some_ values into his head. 

Hopefully everything for the next day would go as planned. She had already informed him that they were going to be taking a day trip to Hogsmeade the next afternoon. He didn't seem very happy, but she couldn't blame him. _She_ didn't even like the place that she was taking him to. 

§

"Why did you take me here?" Snape growled as they stepped into Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. The place was decorated entirely in pink, quite generous with the lace, bows, and ribbons, with accents of gold and pink hearts wandering around the ceiling, daring every so often to swoop low over the mostly empty shop and hanging above the heads of a few happily snogging couples. Snape's sneer became even more pronounced as a heart upturned and dumped gold confetti on top of his head.

"We're practicing for a date," Hermione breathed quietly, looking around for service. Besides the couples, there didn't seem to be any one present. "What you should do, and such. It's a nice place, isn't it?" She lied, making her sarcasm obvious.

"Charming," he replied. "It looks like someone ate too many candy hearts and vomited all over the walls."

Hermione ignored his vulgar, though accurate, assessment and pushed onward as a smartly dressed blond witch called them from the front desk, having suddenly appeared from the back. She was obviously not Madam Puddifoot; the stout owner must have hired a new employee.

"Hello there," she said. Her voice was high-pitched and sounded strained. "Welcome to Madam Puddifoot's. Where would you like to sit?"

Severus looked at Hermione expectantly, as if waiting for her to say something. She just glared at him back, and muttered through clenched teeth. "Professor, I believe that this is your job."

"Oh," he said slowly, as if he'd known that all along. He turned to the young witch and continued. "Where would we like to sit?" He shot hesitant looks at the kissing couples, and Hermione could practically see his stomach churn. "As far away from them as possible."

The girl's fake smile faltered, almost as if he had insulted her. But she quickly lifted the corners of her mouth again and said brightly, "Right this way."

She led them to a table by the window, which was beginning to fog, and they sat down uneasily, while Severus asked her to bring two coffees with the sugar and cream separate.

"Good job," Hermione praised him as she walked away. "Ordering for me. A lot of girls like that."

"Do you?" he asked blankly, looking at the ceiling as if expecting another rude heart to come flying through the air. 

A little flustered by his question, she answered, "Well, I don't really mind it, as long as he knows what I want. You're lucky I like coffee, otherwise you would be in trouble."

"Would I now?" He lifted his eyebrows. He was actually _teasing_ her.

"You're also lucky I like being teased," she answered, anxious for their coffee to come so she could have something to do with her hands. "So far, Professor, this date is succeeding on luck alone."

"Better than nothing," he said dismissively, thanking the blond waitress as she set the two cups of coffee on the table and placed a silver, heart shaped tray with cream and sugar on it between them.

They began to sip their coffee, black, in silence. It was only after a few minutes, when more couples were beginning to pour in and the room was becoming unbearably humid that Severus asked, "What do I do now?"

"Well, that depends," Hermione answered, taking another sip of her hot coffee and setting it down. "Do you like me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you like me?" she asked again. "As in your date. Remember, Professor, that I am not Hermione Granger. I am someone you actually have a romantic interest in."

"Right," he said, scratching just below his ear in an action that suddenly reminded her of Ron. "Since you said that I have a romantic interest in you, then I suppose I must like you?"

"That seems to be the case."

"All right then," he said. "Who ever you are, I like you." His performance was somewhat unconvincing. She knew that he was never one to express affection, but she knew that he most likely couldn't do any better.

"Good, now put your hand over mine."

"You're rather demanding, aren't you?"

"You asked me what you should do," she said, her face reddening. "So I'm telling you. You like me…who ever I am…and I, in theory, like you. Make a move, put your hand on mine."

"Okay," he said hesitantly. Hermione watched with one lifted eyebrow as his large, pale hand inched across the table toward hers. She looked up at him, trying to suppress a smile as she saw that he was focusing intently on her fingertips.

"I shouldn't notice, Professor Snape," she said plainly. "For a being a former spy, you're about as stealthy as Neville Longbottom."

"This is just…difficult," he huffed, jerking his hand away as if he had been burned.

"More difficult than being a Death Eater?"

"Much," he stated. "I'm a Snape, Granger, affection does not run in my veins."

"And yet you're still here, somehow," she shot back, taking a rather large swallow of coffee and wishing that it had been spiked by brandy. "Look, Professor, just relax. Pretend that you're having a good time. For your own sake. I would say it was for mine, but I don't think that that would motivate you."

He almost smiled at her comment. Almost.

"Fine," he groaned, straightening himself up in his seat. Hermione suddenly realized how very small the table was. Sitting up straight, their legs touched under the table. Snape didn't pull his knee away, and neither did Hermione. "So…I do it when she doesn't expect it?"

"Preferably, yes."

"But you're expecting it."

"Just be patient," she huffed. "Wait for a while, do it while we're talking."

"All right." They fell into a silence, while Snape, looking somewhat bewildered, looked down into his coffee cup as if reading his fate in the leftover sips. 

"Well," Hermione began, disappointed that she would have to resort to small talk to keep a conversation going. "Severus, what do you do in your spare time?"

His head jerked upward at her mention of his first name. "What did you call me?"

"Severus," she said. "That is your name, isn't it?"

"I don't think it's appropriate for you to be addressing me in that way."

"I'm not Hermione, remember?" she said, becoming slightly annoyed. His foot shifted under the table and he almost stepped on her toes. "It would be somewhat odd if the love of your life called you Professor Snape."

He remained in sulky silence.

She cleared her throat while the waitress came and poured more coffee, looking curious as to why there was no physical contact between them and why the man seemed to be cowering. Eyebrows lifted, she walked away.

"Severus," she said, startling him again out of his reverie. "I asked you a question."

"My personal life is not very interesting," he stated, surprising her with the fact that he had actually been listening. "I do little more than work on some personal experiments, keep my house elves in line, and tutor an obnoxious, stubborn witch who had the grace to fail my class. My days prove to be quite uneventful, unless my pupil decides to break in to my private chambers and uncover my deepest, darkest secrets."

With this, his hand closed around Hermione's fingers, embracing them gently. His hand was clammy, but it was warm and, all in all, the contact really wasn't that bad. Hermione even found herself trying to hide a blush, though she wasn't quite sure why.

"Well done," she said proudly, allowing him a smile. "Though I would leave the 'obnoxious' part out, if I were you. You never know who might be listening."

There was an intense moment of silence. Hermione reached out a hand to his hair, eyes squinted, and plucked something from the black strands. "Confetti," she said, almost apologetically, as she held up the piece of tacky gold glitter for display. She tossed it on the ground with a sigh.

As if suddenly aware that she, despite what she had said, was actually Hermione Granger, the said obnoxious, stubborn witch, he jerked his hand away and began to dig in his pocket.

"Let's go," he said. "I need to get out of here."

"Yes, I don't think I can drink anymore," Hermione said, staring shyly into her full coffee cup. He tossed a Galleon on to the table and waited for her to get up, escorting her through the maze of the disgusting couples and out the door, quickly rushing away from the blond waitress who was chasing after them with their change.

§

Hermione was quite certain that they had reached the turning point, and now that they had successfully, for the most part, passed by proper date behavior, she was certain that he was allowed to express his newfound skills in a different, uncontrolled environment. It was for this reason that she pulled him into the Three Broomsticks, forgetting her earlier remark about not being able to drink any more and proclaiming her thirst for a butterbeer. 

"At least it's better than Madam Puddlefood's…" Snape muttered as she tugged him by his shirtsleeve inside. 

"Puddifoot," Hermione corrected him as they swept through the doors and into the pub. The familiar, warm, wonderful smell of butterbeer, spiced by the scent of Firewhiskey, floated through the air, and Severus felt like he could practically become drunk just from the fumes. They walked to the bar and Hermione took her place on a stool; Severus sat down hesitantly beside her.

Madam Rosmerta's pretty face emerged from below the bar and she set three mugs full of a liquid that Hermione had never seen before on the counter. She broke into a smile as she saw them.

"Why, hello Professor Snape, Miss Granger. You two're the last people I expected to see today. What brings you to Hogsmeade?"

Hermione immediately said "shopping" while Snape interjected with "business". 

"I see," Madam Rosmerta said. "I suppose it's nice out?" She didn't wait for an answer but continued, her eyebrows furrowing. "Hermione? I thought you were going to go back to France for a bit of a holiday?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione answered. "I was going to, but something else came up."

"Studying, no doubt," the woman answered, gazing sideways at Snape suspiciously. "What will it be?" she asked, changing the subject and straightening up, her eyes brightening. 

"A butterbeer, please," Hermione said. 

"I'll have a Firewhisky," Snape added, but Hermione shot him a black glance.

"I'm not dragging you home," she said. "I've had quite a few bad experiences with drunk people, thank you."

Rosmerta's brightness faltered and her suspicious gaze was now coupled with a slow, disapproving tone of voice. "Two butterbeers coming right up," she said, hurrying away as a small group of elderly wizards came in and seated themselves at the window.

"I should be able to drink what I bloody well please," Snape muttered darkly, squinting as he looked around the hazy pub, apparently searching for a familiar face.

"You're lesson isn't over," Hermione said in a whisper, hunching forward over the bar. "I'd rather you have your wits about you at the moment."

"What am I supposed to do, exactly?"

"Simple," she replied smartly. "Find a woman to hit on."

"Yes, simple. Do you suppose I should have made a copy of the key to my private quarters?" 

"Couldn't hurt…" Hermione said distractedly as Madame Rosmerta, with lightning speed, shoved the butterbeers down the table towards them. Snape nearly missed his and brought it tightly into his grasp as if he was afraid that it might escape. Hermione was beginning to worry about him…had she been too hard on him? Had she completely crushed his ego?

"I suppose I could always give her your room," he stated before taking a rather large gulp from his mug.

Decidedly not. 

"I'll be right back," Hermione said, worming off the stool. "Watch and make sure that no one puts anything in my drink. And don't you put anything in it, either."

"Pray tell where you're going, Miss Granger?" he said as a force of habit, not seeming to really care. 

"To the bathroom," she answered, plainly annoyed that she had to answer his every question. "Does that bother you?"

"No," he said dismissively. "Go. But I can't promise that I'll watch it."

She grumbled and sauntered off through the crowded pub, shooting a backwards glance at him as she went through a swinging door in the back. He only watched her go with a plain façade of indifference, sipping thoughtfully on his butterbeer and playing the taste of butterscotch across his tongue. 

"Severus Snape? What are you doing in Hogsmeade?"

Startled, Snape twisted around in his chair to see a witch, in her mid-fifties with light brown hair cut in a bob and spectacles pushed up her nose, dodging tables and walking nimbly toward him. She was dressed in plain black robes with a necklace in the shape of a telescope hanging around her neck. Professor Salome Sinistra, the Astronomy professor at Hogwarts, somewhat eccentric but the least bothersome among the staff, according to Snape's memory. 

"Good afternoon, Professor Sinistra," he said, trying to soften the edge in his voice as much as possible and swinging out on his stool, still clutching to his butterbeer for dear life. 

She, being a rather short woman, climbed up on to the stool and sat beside him, declaring, "Surely, Severus, we've known each other long enough to be on a first name basis? Call me Salome."

"Salome then," he said blandly. 

"Well, how are you?" she asked eagerly as Madam Rosmerta stood behind the bar, trying to make eye contact so that the flighty woman could make an order. Sinistra seemed to be unable to sense that she was there.

"Never better," he replied, taking another sip of butterbeer and wishing vaguely that he had never even thought that she was the least bothersome. She was quickly climbing his least popular list, edging ever so close to Flitwick, who had the odd habit of getting into Severus's laundry at every opportunity. 

"That's good," Sinistra breathed, uttering a squeak of surprise as Rosmerta prodded her with a pen, desperate to get her attention. "Oh! Sorry, my head's always up in the stars. Um…let's see, do you have cherry syrup and soda?"

"Sure do," Rosmerta said, cocking an eyebrow. 

"With an umbrella?"

"If you wish as much." Madam Rosmerta was becoming increasingly confused…that was a known favorite drink of Professor Flitwick's. Perhaps this woman had been around him too much.

"Oh, I do." Sinistra turned back to Snape and said, "Well, I said it once and I'll say it again, Severus, what are you doing in Hogsmeade?"

"Professor Sinistra?" Hermione posed from behind Severus, startling him and making him jump. She shot a look at Snape with a lifted eyebrow, clearly transmitting the fact that this was his chance. From the expression on his face, she could tell that he already knew, but he didn't seem too happy about it. "What are you doing here?"

Sinistra broke out in to a genuine smile at the sight of her former pupil. "Why, Hermione Granger, I didn't expect to see you here, either. I just stopped by for a drink, and, as a matter of fact, I was just asking your dear Potions Professor the same question. She looked momentarily confused. "I thought that you were in Paris?"

"Yes," she said, sounding slightly bitter. "That seems to be a common misconception."

As if the fact that Professor Sinistra was a woman suddenly dawned on Severus, his face brightened. "Ah, Salome," he said, waving his mug toward her as if he had also suddenly become very drunk. "I didn't know that you had…ah…Miss Granger in your class."

"Of course," Salome said, eyebrows furrowed. "I believe that almost every student at Hogwarts goes through my class at least once. It's rather popular…"

"I see," he answered, raising his eyebrows at her over his mug. "Are you staying at Hogwarts for the summer?"

She let out a light, chortling laugh. "Of course. You know me, Severus, I live in the Astronomy tower. You wouldn't find a better place to spend your nights in the whole of Britain."

Yes, and Hermione was quite certain that many of the students fourth year and up were also aware of that fact.

"Say, Severus, are you going to the staff party next weekend?" she asked, reaching forward and touching a hand to his arm. He seemed like he was trying very hard to not look at it and instead concentrate on her.

"Oh…oh, yes." Actually, he had completely forgotten about it and when he had heard about it, made it quite clear that he wasn't interested in going. "Saturday at seven, right?"

She nodded. "Right. Well…I'll look forward to seeing you there. I better get going, I still have a few things to pick up. Have a good day, Severus." She glanced fleetingly at Hermione. "Miss Granger." With that, Professor Sinistra worked through the anxious maze of people and exited the pub.

"Where did she go?" a flustered Madam Rosmerta asked, seeing that the woman had disappeared. "Don't tell me she left without her drink."

"That seems to be the case, yes," Hermione said, sitting back at her customary seat and glancing suspiciously at her abandoned butterbeer. Its color now seemed slightly…off, to her, though she knew that was probably because of her paranoia.

"Do you want this, then, Hermione?" she asked. "I don't know anyone else that can stomach these things, besides her and Flitwick."

"All right," Hermione obliged, taking the martini-glass shaped cup from the woman and setting it on the bar, rotating the umbrella through her fingers. As soon as Rosmerta had left, she cast a sideways glance at her tutor. "She'll look forward to seeing you there, eh?"

"Yes," Severus sniffed, downing the last few sips of his butterbeer in one last gulp. "I believe that is what she said."

"Lucky you," Hermione said with sly smile.

"Don't mock me. I did what you told me to do, and I succeeded. Shouldn't you be happy for me?"

"Oh, I am." The cherry soda was gone within a few minutes, and she kept glancing forlornly at the mug of butterbeer until Severus pushed it at her, proclaiming "Oh, for Merlin's sake, no one's done anything to it." 

He sighed.

"She's a friendly, attractive woman," Snape stated after Hermione had taken the mug into her hand and sniffed it suspiciously. "Definitely a possible candidate."

"Yes," Hermione said, swallowing her own sigh as she sipped carefully on her butterbeer, sweeping it across her tongue and searching for any unusual taste. "Definitely."

She just pretended that the substance eating away at the pit of her of her stomach was the mild alcohol or maybe the odd effects of the cherry syrup, and not the bitter beginnings of jealousy.

* * *

Thanks to: Aindel S. Druida, Akasha Ravensong, hp-lover-fifi, Lana Manckir, crystalclear8050 (quite, actually), oO-Innocent Dreamer-Oo (nope), Audrey, Cow as White as Milk (characterizing Snape actually isn't that difficult...he's a lot like me), Kim, angelfish2, Kaliae, pickles87, Blatant Discontent (Hermione holds love in some sort of an ideal...hence Romeo and Juliet, the most unrealistic "love" story ever told. Maybe she'll come to her senses some day and let him borrow Jane Eyre (a personal favorite of mine, also), Fou Fou (I agree whole-heartedly. Snape's opinion on Romeo and Juliet is exactly the same as my own), CEA, Lily of the Shadow (Yeah...I don't think the Holocaust Museum would supply the mood that Hermione wanted to set), Kaaera (I haven't either. Even my fictional characters are more experienced than I am. Ah well, it's not a huge deal. Glad, actually...get to spend more time writing fanfic ;) ), Zvezdana, magictwinkle, yeoldecrazy1 (very possibly, but...), Rylee Smith, CassandraTheEvil (nope, don't mind at all, as long as you're not selling it ;) ).

Thank you all for your kind and abundant reviews. Look for the next chapter approximately August 1st. 


	17. For the Perfect Man

**Chapter Sixteen**

_For the Perfect Man_

Hermione was beginning to regret having come. She wasn't staff, she was just an acquaintance of a staff member, and Snape's half-hearted offer spoke very plainly that he only asked her to come as an act of courtesy, and, for the most probable reason, didn't want to leave her at his house by herself. There was no telling what trouble she could get herself into when he wasn't around. 

The hall was decorated tastefully, the ornamental touches much more demure than they were for student celebrations. Scarlet-colored velvet hangings draped across the walls, entwined with strands of silver tinsel. The tables and benches had been removed, and comfortable high-backed chairs lined the walls, looking elegant and stately against the sophisticated backdrop. The ceiling was a pure shade of unadulterated black, dotted with tiny pinpricks of starlight and occasionally stained by a whisper of a cloud, silver in the moonlight, floating into view. The moon was large and bright, not yet full, and the candles in the room gave off very little light. The lighting effect was quiet and, dare she say, almost romantic. 

One very pleasant surprise was Remus Lupin, who was apparently returning to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts the next school year. Hermione only regretted that she wouldn't be at Hogwarts to take it. He made his way to her through the sparse crowd, having seen her from a distance, and handed her a glass of red wine in greeting. He looked healthier than when Hermione had last seen him, probably due to the fact that he had much less to worry about anymore. His face was no longer gaunt but fuller and lacking the lines that had prematurely aged him for so long. The gray hairs that had protruded at his temples were gone, but she doubted that they had left on their own accord. 

"I didn't except to see you here, Hermione," he said, taking a sip from his own glass. "You're not coming back as a teacher, are you? I haven't heard anything about that, if you are." 

"I seem to be hearing that a lot, lately," Hermione said carefully, watching as Snape walked over to Professor Sinistra and extended his hand in a gesture that asked for a dance. He was doing rather well, considering that he often said that he didn't like to be touched. "My only question is: where do people expect to see me if not here?" 

"I'm sorry," Remus replied, sounding confused and hesitant. "I didn't mean to insult you." 

"Oh," she answered, face reddening with embarrassment. "Sorry, you didn't. I'd much rather hear it coming from you than anyone else." 

"Having problems, Hermione?" he asked, gesturing to a chair in hopes that they could sit down. Hermione obliged happily, she had not made the most sensible choice in shoes. 

"Not necessarily," she answered, sitting sideways on her chair and crossing her ankles while Remus sat down beside her, face wrought with concern. It was then that she noticed that he had a meager line of facial hair growing on his upper lip; she squinted at it in confusion. "Are you growing a mustache?" 

"Trying," he said, attempting to hide his embarrassment as he absently stroked his upper lip. "Not doing a very good job of it." 

She grinned, her eyes becoming playful and bright. "I can see that." 

"Stop changing the subject," he demanded good-naturedly, nudging her ankle with the toe of his boot. "I did ask what you're doing here, and I expect an answer, whether you've been hearing it a lot lately or not." 

Hermione sighed and gazed down into her goblet, swirling its contents about. "I'm staying with Snape." 

Remus let out a laugh. "You're kidding." 

"Afraid not." She looked up at him and brushed a curl away from her face; the elastic band that she had attempted to use to hold back her mass of hair was not working very well. "He expelled me from his Potions class, and is making it up to me by tutoring me so I can take the NEWTs at the end of the summer." 

"What?" he cried in indignation, his sad excuse for a mustache twitching. "Why on earth did he expel you? And he's what…making up for it?" 

"You know about as much as I do," she said solemnly, taking another sip of wine. It was quite good, and very robust. She was thinking about telling him about the lessons she was giving Severus, but decided not to. The man had an uncanny ability to know when you had done something wrong. "It's a mystery." 

"I hope he's treating you well," he added, sounding sulky. He downed the last of his wine, but the goblet immediately refilled.

"As well as I'd expect," she answered. "Actually better than I expected, to be truthful. His house elves are mad, though."

Remus chuckled. "I suppose that is typical."

"And I thought Kreacher was bad."

"If my memory serves me correctly," Remus interjected, a wicked smile stretching under his nose. "You happened to think that Kreacher was, how did you put it, 'a dear, misunderstood creature who's been unjustly served by the system and torn from everything that he loves'."

"Those were my ignorant days," Hermione said, unable to not smile a bit at her severe misjudgment of character. "I prefer to pretend that I never said that."

"In all honesty, I would too," Remus said, a hint of darkness whispering in his tone.

Their reverent silence was interrupted when the string quartet struck up a classic waltz from the front of the room. Remus's head jerked up from his wine and he asked, "You wouldn't happen to want to dance would you?"

"I would like to, actually," she answered, setting her goblet down and secretly kicking her shoes off under the chair. Hopefully he wouldn't step on her feet. They swept out on to the floor and Remus put a hand around her waist, and held her hand tightly in his other.

Remus was warm and practically glowed kindness, and, looking around, Hermione could see that Professor Sprout was throwing her a dirty, but somewhat curious, look from a circle of Professors that included McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Poppy Pomfrey, the school nurse. She exchanged glances with Snape, who immediately snapped his head away and back to his dance partner, who looked extremely happy and didn't seem to notice that Snape hadn't been paying attention to her chattering.

"Does he look happy to you?" Hermione asked Remus, still gazing thoughtfully at the other couple, worrying her lip between her teeth.

The werewolf, looking faintly annoyed, followed the trail of her gaze to the dancing Sinistra and Snape, puckering his mouth. "Honestly, love, I wouldn't know. I don't think I've ever seen him truly happy before."

"Oh." Did she sound disappointed? No, it must have been the mix of her voice with the last strains of the waltz. The song died and quickly melted into a smooth, slower, more contemporary orchestral piece. Remus drew Hermione closer, making her a little uncomfortable. But he was a friend, a good friend, and she wasn't about to pull away.

"This is kind of funny," Hermione said, looking around at the ceiling as Remus stared, enraptured, at her face. "I never knew that the staff members here would willingly congregate. The way that Snape talks about his colleagues, I would think that he'd like to stay away from them as much as possible."

"He does," Remus answered, a tiny frown becoming evident on his lips. "I have no idea why he came."

"Odd."

"Indeed." He watched shyly as Dumbledore pulled McGonagall onto the floor. They were both radiant. "I hope you're able to keep yourself occupied? I can't imagine how boring it would be to live in that place…absolutely nothing of entertainment."

"I'm quite busy," Hermione replied. "A fair amount of Potions work, some other things. Almost been through my entire supply of books, though."

"You mean he hasn't shown you the library?"

Her hold on his hand tightened and he clenched his teeth; the girl had a strong grip. "What do you mean 'library'?" she asked, her eyes wide and her cheeks blushing a deep red.

"Exactly what I said," he answered uneasily. "I was asking if he had shown you the library."

"No! He hasn't! I didn't even know that he had one."

"Well, he does," Remus answered, his frown becoming more pronounced. "Quite a nice one, too."

Hermione harrumphed, her shoulders sagging. "I'm going to have to get him to show me that thing, tomorrow. And if he doesn't, I'll twist his ear."

"I don't think he'd appreciate that," Remus answered wryly, wishing that he could attract her attention and get the subject Ioff/I of that git. "So what are you planning on doing next year?"

"I'm not quite sure," she answered, her mood immediately, scarily transforming from wondering to bleak. A dour expression contorted her pleasant features. "I was planning to apply for an apprenticeship at St. Mungo's, but that didn't turn out so well."

"Will you come and stop by Grimmauld Place?" he asked, tugging on her hand to refocus her attention. "Harry's fixed it up quite a bit. We even got that bloody portrait off the wall. You're more than welcome to stay if you want."

The song was ending. "I'll think about it," she answered in a tone that promised little more. Another song started up, just as slow as the last, with a lingering sad tone woven throughout the notes.

"Lupin," a familiar growl said from the side, making them both snap their heads to the side, startled. Severus Snape stood there, back straight, with his hands fastened behind his back. Hermione hadn't even seen him break away from Sinistra, who now stood, looking dejected, against the opposite wall. "May I cut in?"

A warm blush spread across Hermione's face, embarrassed to have Snape take her away from an old friend. But Remus stepped graciously aside, a hint of a sigh escaping his lips. Snape took her hand and drew her into himself, almost making her utter a sound of startled surprise. He was certainly progressing well. Was this truly Snape?

"I thought you didn't like to be touched," Hermione said, frowning, as his hand snaked around her waist and settled on her back. Her face felt extremely hot and her hand seemed to burn in his.

"I don't," he said plainly, sounding bored and glancing forlornly at the door. "But I'm putting that past me tonight."

"That's…interesting," Hermione replied, eyebrows furrowed. "What happened to Professor Sinistra?"

"She bored me," he said, so loudly that Hermione fought the urge to duck under his arms and cower from anyone that might look at them in curiosity. "All she talks about is the position of Vega."

"Ah, surely she can't be so bad?" Hermione protested half-heartedly. She looked over to see that Remus had taken Sinistra away from the wall and she was now blushing furiously as he put his hand on her waist.

"I apologize for being picky," he said in a tone that wasn't apologetic at all.

"No you don't."

"I'm sorry."

"No you aren't."

The corner of his mouth quirked upward as he looked down at her, his eyes alight with the dim candlelight. "You know me so well."

"You're never going to break the curse, you know," said Hermione, a little worried, a little sad, and somehow, a little relieved. She didn't know the outcome of the curse, but if Snape was not trying very hard, she doubted that it was important.

"I know," he answered, a bit solemnly.

"You could at least try," she urged.

"Face it, Miss Granger," he said, looking intensely at her as his hand tightened, almost painfully, over hers. He really was a rather good dancer, for someone who probably hadn't ever danced with a woman in his life, besides Professor Sinistra. "I am simply not going to find love at Hogwarts." There was a moment of reverent silence, before Snape furrowed his brow in confusion. "Are you not wearing shoes?"

Several yards away, Remus and Salome Sinistra danced, chatting with the music.

"So, Remus, did you enjoy dancing with Miss Granger?" she asked, a knowing smile playing across her lips. "I know she's a bit of something that you've wanted to hook your claws into for a while."

The werewolf blushed, abashed. "Yes, you're right," he said with a slight sigh. "I have…I do…but..." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, noticing that, dancing with the oft-irritated Professor Snape, she almost seemed…happy. "But it was the oddest thing…she only kept talking about one thing."

"Really," Sinistra said mildly, tugging on his hand to focus his attention back on his dancing partner. "And what was that?"

"Not what, but who." Remus immediately looked uneasy and rolled his neck in his collar, as if he had suddenly become very hot. "Severus Snape."

"Is that so?" Salome said, her spectacles sparkling as she looked over at the couple, who both seemed unaware of their true feelings. "Well that makes sense, then."

"What makes sense?"

"I never thought that Severus liked me," she said, pouting a bit. "I think…I think he might have used me to make her jealous."

"Ah, yes," Remus answered with a chuckle, rubbing a circle in her back in a manner that he hoped was comforting. He knew Severus, he knew Severus well, and he knew that the poor woman was most certainly right. "Well, my dear, welcome to the beautifully complex world of Severus Snape."

§

The bushes in the gardens were crowned with wide tiaras of silvery light, an occasional white rose reaching up to entangle vines and stems in a loving embrace, its thorns invisible in the darkness. Severus Snape sat on the lip of a large fountain –dry, as it usually was in the Summer – and gazed out at the Quidditch fields with his lips held tightly together, listening to the sounds of the distant forest.

He was fighting many urges at once, and winning, as he had often done in over thirty-nine years on this planet. He had taught himself to suppress his wants, and had always done well in occupying his mind with different things other than the topics at hand. His heart beat courageously in his chest, but his other muscles were strong enough to resist it.

"Good evening, Severus," Remus said, breaking the perfect silence as he sat down beside him. "You're not sulking, are you?"

"No," Severus answered, refusing to look at him. "Just thinking how much I want to rip that so-called mustache off of your face."

"Such harsh words," Remus replied. Severus could practically Ihear/I him smiling. "And I did hardly anything to warrant such a biting remark." His tone warmed from mocking to genuine concern. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Severus lied.

"I see." He sounded thoughtful. "It couldn't have to do with Hermione Granger, could it?"

"I said that there was nothing wrong."

"No offence, Severus, but I don't usually believe anything you say."

"I'll remember that," he said, glaring glumly at the blank ground.

"You love her, don't you?"

"No," Snape answered, shrugging his coat – which Remus didn't think was needed in this pleasant, warm summer weather - further up his shoulders and looking as though he was preparing to stand up and leave the werewolf to his lonesome.

"That was a quick answer," Remus answered, leaning back a bit and looking up at the sky. "For someone who shouldn't have thought about it."

"Leave me alone, Lupin."

"I was only wondering what you were doing sitting out here, alone," Remus replied, ignoring his demand. "When a pretty girl is in there, in the company of a bunch of old men, talking about politics. I would think that you would still be dancing with her."

"I was only dancing with her because Sinistra annoyed me. And Granger kept stepping on my feet."

"She wasn't wearing shoes, Severus." Remus let out another long, drawn-in sigh. "Stop making excuses, you're really very bad at it."

Snape made an indistinct noise.

"You were using Sinistra to make Hermione jealous, weren't you?"

"I would do no such thing," scoffed Snape.

"Yes, you would. Severus…" Remus breathed. "This doesn't have to do with the curse, does it?"

Snape finally looked at him, and his expression was not a happy one. His eyes were narrowed, suspicious, his mouth drawn. When he spoke, his voice was edged with a growl and laced with a dangerous tone. "Who told you about that?"

"Come, Severus," Remus said gently. "The entire staff knows. I'm supposing that I'm right?"

"Stay out of my business, wolf."

Remus's voice took on an uncharacteristic, dangerous tone, edgier than Snape's. His back straightened and his face became very hard, his soft brown eyes becoming wide, gleaming darkly in the moonlight. "If you're using her, I am going to kill you."

"What are you talking about?" Snape asked in a sigh, edging away from the angry man. He just wanted to be alone; why couldn't he have that?

"I love Hermione, and I will kill you if you hurt her. She is not someone to be toyed with, Snape." He spat out his name with venom, his anger growing to such an extent that Snape was almost afraid that he was going to transform into his cursed form, even though it was not a full moon. Suddenly, Remus's hands were around his throat. His grip didn't squeeze, but it was firm. Severus's hands reached up to the wolf's shoulders, trying to push him away. He was having trouble breathing, and he was about to fall into the dry fountain. "If you are using her just to break the bloody curse, II/I will hurt you."

"I'm not using her to break the curse…" Snape managed to breathe, feeling Remus relax. "That just happens to be one of the benefits."

Lupin's hold became firmer.

"Fine," Snape wheezed, reaching up and trying to pry his surprisingly strong fingers from his throat. "I care for her, all right?" Lupin's grip lessened a bit. "I might even love her. Are you happy now?"

Remus was breathing hard as he released him, his hair in disarray, the dangerous glint fading from his eyes. "Not particularly." He collapsed back on to the lip of the fountain, burying his face in his hands and rubbing them through his hair. "Sorry about that, mate," he said, his voice muffled. "Ever since Sirius died, I just can't…" His voice cracked and he trailed off. Snape, not one to ever offer sympathy, just waited for him to regain his composure with a sour expression on his face.

After a moment of uneasy silence, Remus managed to look up, his good humor filtering back. "How long have you…you know?"

"Over a year," Severus answered, unabashed.

"Ouch, fancying a student. Now, is it just me, or is that against the rules?"

"Shut up."

"So what exactly are you doing about it? I mean, are you just going to sit here, waiting for her to find another man so you can wallow in your self-pity all over again? I know how you act around someone you care for…you insult them endlessly and treat them horribly, hoping that they'll pick up on your secrets hints that you actually like them. You never were good at expressing affection…and you don't have very much time left, Severus."

"Yes, I am well aware of that," Snape answered, running his hands around his throat. He could still feel the pressure with which Lupin had encircled his neck. "I have been doing things."

"Like what?"

Snape couldn't believe he was discussing his plans to seduce Miss Hermione Granger with one of his most-hated colleagues. And yet he rambled on, the outpouring somehow feeling almost good, relieving. "I asked her to teach me how to attract women."

Lupin let out a laugh. "I don't think that that would help much, that sounds like you were asking her to find you a girlfriend."

"I just wanted to know what she looked for in a man. What she would want her mate to do."

"Well, it would make more sense to me," Lupin answered, leaning back so far that Severus thought it was a wonder that he didn't fall completely into the fountain. "If you just let her get to know the real you, instead of putting on some act. I really think she likes you…or at least can tolerate you…just the way you were."

"I am the real me…I was the real me," he said, making a face at the corniness in the phrase. "I just need to know how the…II/I can act to make a relationship…appropriate."

"Face it, Severus," Lupin said with a bit of a grin. "She's a former student. I don't think that that'll ever make it appropriate."

"I realize that."

"Well, you better get with it soon, otherwise your chance will slip through your fingers. I happen to know that you and I are not the only ones that fancy her. And if you don't make a move for her, my friend, I will."

"What a stupid word…" Severus replied, not able to think of any snappy comebacks and instead lowering himself to insult Lupin's vocabulary. His mind was slipping as his fingers grasped the rough stone for physical and mental stability. "'Fancy'. It's a teenager's word."

"There you two are," Hermione broke in, fixing her shirtsleeve as she walked out the door, fiddling with the button. Remus and Severus suddenly sat very erect, mouths clasping shut as if they hadn't been conversing. Hermione didn't notice. "I was wondering where you went. I can't believe that you two just left me alone in there. If Flitwick grabs my bum one more time, I honestly have no problem drop-kicking someone half my height. I mean that. Just because I'm not a student anymore-"

"I think I'm going to head back inside," Remus said, cutting her off and casting a warning glance at Snape. "It's getting quite cold." He stood up and dusted off his trousers; Severus looked at his hands wearily. Remus turned back to Snape, nodding curtly. "Good luck, Severus, but to be completely honest with you…" He smiled a bit, glancing out of the corner of his eye at a confused Hermione Granger. "I don't think you really need it that much."

With a wink at Severus and a weak wave in Hermione's direction, Remus went back inside. She could hear him sigh as he passed.

"Good luck about what?" Hermione asked as soon as the werewolf had left. She approached the Potions master carefully; he could hear the slap of her bare feet on the stone, and her uncomfortable-looking shoes were clutched in her hand.

"That is none of your business," Snape answered immediately, standing and self-consciously dusting off his trousers like Lupin had done. "Let's go home."

"Okay," she answered, rubbing a tired hand across her eyes. "But on one condition."

"You have conditions now, do you? I was under the impression that conditions were mine to give."

She ignored him and pointed an index finger in his direction. "You," she said in an accusing tone, lips tightly pressed together. "Have a library to show me. And you're not getting any rest until you do."

* * *

Thanks to: Cow as White as Milk, Akasha Ravensong (only starting?), Anarane Anwamane, CassandraTheEvil, moviebuff101, TiffanyK, Satern Mya, Blatant Discontent, Snapegirl51606, Lana Manckir, MistressMoonDemon, EvieBlack, Kristy, Yoshi (Quite all right. I'm admittedly horrbile at reviewing, but that's partly my computer's fault and its intolerance of pop-up windows), oO-Innocent Dreamer-Oo, Zvezdana (really? The last chapter was my favorite of all of them so far. Ah well, to each his own), Lily of the Shadow, Mouse4, KnightsBallad (Happy birthday! And maybe drop me an e-mail to...clarify?), Gold-Emerald fairy, Kaaera, Rylee Smith, yeoldecrazy1 (Thanks, I like that line, too. I gave myself shivers :)), Kris Leigh, Aindel S. Druida, Purple Spotted Hedwig, angelfish2, and AngelofTears. I apologize for the lack of personal notes. I just got back from Florida and I'm zonked.

As always, thanks to my dear beta Laiagarien. 


	18. Books and Beatrice's Return

**Chapter Seventeen**

_Books and Beatrice's Return_

So, she had lied…a little. She was so certain that she could nag him for ages and demand that he showed her to the library right upon their arrival back home, but instead had headed straight to her room and collapsed on her bed in her clothing, overcome with an extreme sense of sleepiness. Her eyelids betrayed a persistent curiosity and thirst for the written word and filed it behind her conventional need for sleep, saving it for the morning.

She had forgotten about the library entirely until breakfast came. Over fried eggs and fried toast, which she was devouring with passion and thankfulness for again being able to consume breakfast, she brought up her demand yet again.

"I'm looking forward to seeing the library, you know," she said, placing a bit of egg white sprinkled liberally with black pepper on her tongue. 

Snape gazed at her steadily, his expression clearly annoyed. Though the breakfast was delicious, he had barely touched it and had pushed his eggs around his plate at least five times. He had dark rings under his eyes and it looked as though he hadn't slept the previous night at all.

"I believe," he answered, his voice muffled as if he was suppressing a yawn. "It is neither my duty nor my privilege to show you the library. I have important matters to tend to. If you want to see it so badly, find it yourself."

The apple juice in his glass gurgled and disappeared, and a piece of his toast faded away. Obviously, the new cook was not patient with picky, fidgety eaters. However, new food kept appearing on Hermione's plate and she was becoming quite full, but each treat was somehow better than the last. She had a disconcerting hunch that the new house elf would make up for the weight she had lost under the tyrannical domestic rule of Beatrice, and, unfortunately, then some.

"You wouldn't want me to stumble upon anything I'm not supposed to see, would you?" With great will power, she finally put down her fork and licked whipped cream and strawberry sauce from the corner of her mouth. 

"Don't even try to manipulate me," he answered humorlessly. His plate and silverware rattled loudly in frustration and vanished entirely. She heard a faint rumble roll in his stomach and wondered why he hadn't eaten if he was hungry. "And you won't. Feel free to look, I've learned my lesson."

Hermione huffed in mottled disappointment. She wasn't in the mood for a treasure hunt, and had been hoping that Snape, who was quickly becoming someone she almost considered an odd type of friend, would share her discovery with her. Apparently, that was no longer an option.

Defeated, she began her search after breakfast with only her own two feet and her small knowledge of the ever-changing manor to guide her. She led herself to her own quarters three times before she decided to begin at a different point than the entrance hall. She wished he would have at least given her a general direction of where it was, but maybe he enjoyed torturing her too much. Well, not maybe, definitely. The man was an open book when it came to his pleasures, and others' suffering was definitely listed early in the pages.

She screamed in frustration as she rounded a corner that she was _certain_ would lead to unfamiliar territory – and instead found herself in the parlor where she had given Snape his lessons earlier. An earthy growl vibrating in her throat, she turned around to go back the way she came to see that the corridor had vanished. A mostly empty bookshelf now sat there, being dusted by a young house elf that squeaked in surprise at her presence and disappeared with a crack.

"He's doing this on purpose," she muttered darkly, rifling through the sad contents of the shelf that included a few ancient editions of Pureblood Weekly that were addressed to Snape's grandmother. The yellowing pages threatened to crumble under the slightest pressure, and she abandoned them to their decay of time and walked toward the door, wishing for a glass of water. Her feet were sore and her legs were aching from tromping up stairs and down hallways. The couch was awfully tempting.

She gave in to the temptation and collapsed on to the cushions, inhaling the musty smell and closing her eyes. After a moment, she gave a startled jump, realizing that she was probably late for her Potions session. 

"Wait…" she sighed to herself. "It's Sunday."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that, otherwise I would have been upbraiding you for your tardiness several minutes ago."

Hermione didn't open her eyes, just rested her hands on her stomach and felt her muscles loosen in relaxation. She had sensed that he had walked into the room moments before he said anything. He hadn't made a noise (the man was as stealthy as a shadow), he didn't have any particular scent that stood out in a dusty room, his presence just _was_. And Hermione had lived with him long enough to recognize that.

Obviously bothered by her lack of reply, he added, "I am assuming that you haven't found it yet."

Heaving a sigh, Hermione worked herself to a sitting position and gazed suspiciously at him through narrowed eyes. "You _assume_? Isn't it rather obvious?" Her gaze changed from suspicious to curious. He had what looked like a silvery substance rubbed on his fingers, dotting the backs of his hands, and smudged across the tip of his nose. It looked like graphite from a pencil. But since when did Severus Snape use pencils?

Of course…she had seen it on the nightstand next to his bed. She hadn't paid attention at the time, but the Daily Prophet had been creased deeply, folded to a partially filled crossword puzzle.

Now, with the remains of his guilty pleasure smeared across his skin, he looked rather endearing, like a child with chocolate melted on the corners of his mouth telling his mother that he hadn't been in the cookie jar. It was actually rather cute – there was no other word for it.

She would never admit that to him, of course.

"I don't suppose that Pureblood Weekly holds any interest for you."

"Oh, no, I particularly enjoy the article about Fifty Ways to Make a Muggleborn Infertile. Rather interesting information," Hermione answered with a dry smirk, devolving into a frown as she waited for him to announce his purpose of being here, for imposing on her peace, to admit his _raison d'être_, if he was so inclined. But he said nothing, just stood there in silence like a stern, disapproving statue that would guard a secret passageway at Hogwarts, and only succeeded in annoying Hermione further.

Unceremoniously, admittedly rude, and quite fed up, Hermione finally blurted out, "What do you want?"

His scowl became more pronounced as he said coldly, "This is my house, I believe that I have the right to stand where I like." He paused. "And I was under the impression that you wanted to see the library."

"So you're just here to mock me," she said in disdain. "Thanks."

"Partly," he answered with that light tone of teasing. "But no matter how much I enjoy torturing you, I find that I'm becoming soft. I was going to lead you there."

"What, and not into a pit of biting cobras?"

"Of course not. That would ruin my plans for tomorrow."

Hermione couldn't help smiling a little bit. Even his smirk had softened into something slightly resembling a smile, and his black eyes were alight with something that bordered on harmless mischief. 

"So you're going to show me the library," she posed carefully, readying herself to get up from the sacked sofa that was threatening to swallow her whole.

"That is what I said, yes. Unless you're enjoying the hunt, and I will happily return to my work and leave you to wander the halls of my manor forever."

Hermione kept herself from questioning the importance of his so-called "work", refrained from saying, 'What is a nine-letter synonym for "exaggeration", Professor?', and instead managed to stutter out something unintelligible and not in the least flattering or eloquent.

"Is that a noise of acceptance?" he posed, eyebrow quirked and smirk remaining. 

She nodded and managed to blurt out, "Yes."

"Good." He turned on his heels and began to stalk quickly out of the room. "Follow me."

She managed to catch up with him, struggling to keep up with his long strides. She thought he was leading her to her room until he rounded into a hallway that Hermione, somehow, hadn't noticed before, and walked down a short flight of stairs that Hermione was quite sure had not previously existed.

Another long corridor and a scoffing portrait of an elderly Swiss wizard later and they arrived at a cold, iron door, with bolts welded in every few inches and an imposingly large handle on its side. It looked like it belonged to a vault at Gringrott's. Maybe he was leading her to his hidden pit of cobras, or maybe Remus had just exaggerated and the library was a small collection of books rotting away in a cold, damp, dark, dungeon-like section of the manor.

So it came to her great surprise when the foreboding door simply melted away under Snape's hand and revealed a spectacular place devoid of both snakes and darkness.

The ceiling extended upward through all the floors – how many were there? Two, as Hermione had previously thought? Three? Seven? It was impossible to tell. The ceiling was made entirely of glass and French-paned windows looking out at the gardens were settled between bookshelves, stretching up to meet it in the sky. It created a spider web of glass and immaculate white wood. The day had become bright, breaking out of its customary dreariness with a few lazy, fat clouds making their happy place in the sea of deep blue. The glass glittered like raindrops caught in the sun.

If the effects of the so-called curse placed on Snape and his manor were true, the library and its beauty had gone untouched.

And its architecture, no matter how spectacular, fell far behind when it came to its residents.

The books.

Hermione had always prided herself in being the bookish sort, and was fond of the fact that she had wormed her way through almost the entirety of the library at Hogwarts in her short career there. But taking a look at this place, this _wonder_ of the modern world, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to read its contents in her entire lifetime. Even in her extended life as a witch.

Taking her awe-struck silence for what it truly way – awe-struck silence – Snape said with a hint of pride, "Spectacular, isn't it? Thought I must admit, I've contributed very little."

A very large volume with lettered tabs stood on a wooden pedestal to her side, and the cover read, in very plain, pealing gold letters, LIBRARY INDEX.

"Just tell it what you want, and it will bring it to you. But the index mostly serves for browsing purposes."

"Mhmm…" Hermione answered, not really listening as she ruffled through the pages. "You have everything in here. Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë…I've never even _heard_ of that book…Shakespeare?" She couldn't hide a surprised, pleased smile. "Why, Professor, I never thought-"

"Keep it that way," he interrupted gruffly. "Just because I have it doesn't mean I've read it. And I sincerely hope that my ancestors have avoided _Romance the Juvenile_ or whatever it's called."

"_Romeo and Juliet_," Hermione answered distractedly, licking her thumb. "And it's here. I wonder how old it is…"

"Well," Snape said after standing there for quite a number of minutes, feeling as though he had lost his importance next to stacks of crushed trees. "I suppose I'll be going then. Enjoy. And please wash your hands before you touch anything."

Perhaps she could sense the dejection in his voice, or maybe he had broken her reverie with his dry and vaguely familiar demand. Either way, she stood upright and faced him, a startled look on her face.

"Oh," she said at last. "Well…of course…er…you're free to join me if you want." Whether she wanted him there or the offer was just out of politeness, Snape couldn't tell, Hermione didn't know, herself. They stood there for a few moments, like two Gorgons that had just locked eyes and turned each other into stone.

"I think I'll go back to my work," he answered uneasily, forgetting what exactly that work was. "I will see you at lunch, if you can tear yourself away."

He turned to leave but felt a warm pressure on his arm. Slowly, curiously, he spun around, seeing that Miss Granger was gazing up at him with glowing eyes and had a firm hold on his sleeve.

"Thank you," she said, so sincerely that she looked as though her words had even taken her by surprise. "Professor…erm…Severus."

He had planned to make a dry remark, chastise her for calling him by his first name, take house points (no matter how useless that was), or perhaps even just leave with a simple 'you're welcome'. The outcome he had not planned on was kissing her.

And yet it happened anyway.

She yielded at first, when he bent down and pressed his lips to hers with a hunger that he didn't know he could ever be possessed with. His hands were locked on her shoulders, and hers were clenched tightly at her sides. As he tried to nudge his tongue in between her lips, she stiffened and became still, and a tiny, frightened noise escaped her lips.

Startled, scared, angry, and disbelieving, Snape sprung away as if had just locked lips with a cactus. Hermione's face was pale, her eyes inhumanly large and unfocused, and not a word escaped her mouth.

She was in shock. 

Shock was not good.

Snape was unwelcome.

"I'm sorry," Severus hurriedly apologized, grasping his wand tightly in his hand. "I don't know what I was thinking…I have a tendency to be a bit of an idiot…" Flustered, and babbling incoherently at a frozen Miss Granger, he did the first thing that made sense.

He raised his wand to Hermione's head.

"But-" Hermione managed to stutter.

A stern look upon his face, Snape murmured, self-loathing hollowing out his eyes, "_Obliviate_."

§

It was beautiful, unbelievable, incredible, and impossible. Hermione was in heaven.

Only an hour after Snape had left her with nothing more than a seemingly disapproving glance (and not even a goodbye), she was sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by a cocoon of musty volumes, frizzy curls falling in her face. She ignored the offending locks and pushed on through the words, drinking them in with wide, brown eyes.

Novels, Muggle and Wizard alike; Magical history, architecture, and theory; composition; every subject that she could imagine was spread out before her, stretching their stiff spines and ruffling their pages with years of aching neglect. They needed care and love, and Hermione knew that she was the one to give it to them. Among her stranger findings was a defect copy of _Monster Book of Monsters_ that, instead of opening when one rubbed a finger down the spine, sneezed and gave a growl of irritation (Hermione wisely set that one aside). Another was a guide to charms used on Quidditch equipment, which sprouted tiny, snitch-like wings and flew away to the high reaches of the ceiling. 

Her face was buried in a book about rare South American plants and their usage in healing potions when she heard strains of what sounded like a voice drift through the air, reaching out to her ears from an indiscernible place. Ignoring it as whispers of the wind rustling the plants outside and brushing against the windows, she went back to her reading.

But it came again, pricking at the back of Hermione's neck and making her close the book, her thumb holding her place. She looked around the humungous library carefully, but each nook of the room was brightly lit by sunlight pouring through the glass. Nothing could hide in shadow.

The words were becoming more definite now, and she could understand them. The book slid from her hands to the ground and she tugged her wand out of her pocket, looking around, stretching her neck to find the invisible intruder.

"Filthy Mudblood and her wicked ways. The poor master, thinks she can break the curse, foolish, poor master. Ugly little wench entranced him, she did, with her evil magic. Master made a mistake bringing her here, she did. She better leave, or she will be sorry. Oh yes, she will…she will be sorry. And when she is gone, Beatrice will break the curse and have the master all to herself…"

Hermione had backed herself against the bookshelf, wand raised, looking frantically around for any sign of the banished house elf. But there was no evidence of its presence besides the quiet grumbling that seemed to come from the walls themselves.

Then Hermione saw it, a small shadow moving along the wall opposite of her, brushing the bookshelves and pausing every so often as if examining the titles. It had the edges of the house elf Beatrice, the ears twitching frantically, its knobby hands fastened behind its bent back. 

"The master thinks he's in love with the Mudblood. Poor master, she doesn't love him. She only wants his books. His books and his money. She could never break the curse, Mudblood. Never break the curse."

"Beatrice," Hermione said loudly to interrupt the elf's frightening ramblings, her voice bold but holding a definite waver of fear. She had stood beside Harry and faced the Dark Lord himself, and now she was crumpling in fear because of a house elf. "Beatrice, show yourself."

"And she orders Beatrice around as if she were the mistress, but she will never be mistress, because Beatrice will stop her. She will be dead before she has the Snape name. Dead and rotting in her grave."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione shouted, her wand still lifted and her hand shaking. Her grip on the smooth wood was slippery with sweat. "I don't want to be mistress."

"She says that, but she lies. Filthy Mudblood liar. Poor master, doesn't even know what love is. His grandmother would be ashamed to know that he's in love with a Mudblood and a liar. To see that he's fallen under some evil spell…"

"Snape doesn't love me," Hermione said, shooting a curse at the shadow of the hidden elf. It went through it as though it had gone through water, creating a dim ripple of light in its wake. "I'm just his student, and I'm leaving soon. I don't know where you get off thinking such things…"

"It's all master talks about. Hermione this, Hermione that." The creature was still muttering to itself, as if Hermione wasn't even there. The elf had completely lost what little was left of her sanity, falling to the ranks of Kreacher, whose remains were yet to be found. If only Hermione could lift whatever spell Beatrice had placed on herself, or if she could get Snape… "'I must tell her tonight,'" she mimicked. "'Otherwise I might never do it. I must tell her that I love her'. And the master is cruel to himself, cruel for being a coward even though he is doing the right thing. He must forget the Mudblood, she is not good for him. He must learn to love Beatrice, and Beatrice will lift the curse. And then he will be for Beatrice, and he will be happy."

"He does not love me," Hermione said again, a funny feeling whirling about in her stomach. If she wasn't so scared that she couldn't budge she would have felt the urge to vomit welling up inside of her. 

"The Mudblood could have cost him his job…that's why he fired her. Fired her from his class. He made a good decision, getting rid of the Mudblood, didn't do anything foolish to get himself fired. But guilt, bad, bad guilt, he wanted to make it up to her…foolish, foolish master! Poor master!"

"He kicked me out of his class because I broke the rules…" Hermione said, slumping against the bookshelf even further with her hair falling in front of her wide eyes. "He found my Time-"

As if finally realizing that there was someone else in the library other than herself, the shadow of Beatrice's head snapped up, alert, and the elf melted into view. Her bulging eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying, and her mouth was drawn tight. She sniffed noisily and cast a hateful glance in Hermione's direction.

"The master didn't trust himself," Beatrice said sulkily, approaching Hermione slowly. "He thought that if the Mudblood was in his class, he would do something bad, Dumbledore old fool would fire him. Regret is bad, very bad. Made the master do bad things. Made the master bring the ugly Mudblood here. And now he thinks he's in love with her…thinks she could break the curse."

"That's not true!" Hermione found herself shouting, goose bumps rising on her arms. She didn't feel like she could press herself against the bookshelf anymore than she already had, and contemplated sprinting toward the door and away from these frightening lies that the elf was spitting at her. 

"He asked me to find him someone that could break the curse. He never asked _me_ to! He wanted me to help!" 

"Master wanted to know what the Mudblood liked," the elf spat out, still approaching in a painfully slow gate that made Hermione feel like she was going to challenge her to a duel. "So he could change himself to be hers. Master is perfect the way he is, doesn't need to change, especially for _her_."

"That's not true!" Hermione shouted again, the conviction in her voice fading away. There was no reason it couldn't be true. Actually, all logic pointed out to her that what the house elf was saying made perfect sense. How Beatrice had gotten out of whatever prison the others had put her in, Hermione didn't know, but all she knew was that Beatrice was out now, cornering her, rambling nonsense that actually might be true. And Hermione was afraid.

The Pensieve…Hermione remembered the Pensieve. It only served as evidence for Beatrice's words…and now it made sense. 

"Beatrice does not tell lies," Beatrice replied firmly. "And the Mudblood better leave now before she ends up in the backyard, dead."

Hermione suddenly felt a squeezing pressure around her neck, as if something was trying to choke her. Wheezing for breath, she tried to let out a scream as she saw that a strong snake was wrapped around her neck, choking the air from her lungs. Its head nodded back and forth in her face with a tiny, black tongue darting out, tasting the heat radiating from her skin. She couldn't scream, she couldn't cough, she couldn't breathe.

"Mudblood must leave, and never come back."

Hermione pried at the snake and felt her fingers close around air, and she collapsed against the wall, gasping for breath and rubbing away the pressure from her throat with aching hands. When she gathered enough air, she ran.

§

She gathered her things quickly, throwing them all haphazardly in her bags, deciding to leave a few books behind that refused to fit. Crookshanks hissed irritably as she roused him from his nap, but the frightened look in his mistress's eyes calmed his fit and told him that this wasn't a time to argue. She took her bags and dashed into the hallway, ran down the corridor as fast as her luggage would allow her, rounded a corner, and ran promptly into something dark, warm, and solid.

"I was just coming to look for you," a deep voice uttered in a tone that sounded very anxious. All of Hermione's bags fell to the floor and she only managed to squeak in surprise. Mixed emotions were swirling in her head right now, all blanketed by confusion and denial, and lastly, completely smothered in fear. The only thing that made sense right now was to run, but Snape was blocking her way.

He lifted an eyebrow at the bags and the cat pacing in his carrier. "Going somewhere, Miss Granger?" His tone wasn't dry as it usually was, he sounded…nervous, almost. As if he actually cared. 

"Oh…um…" Hermione regarded her bags frantically, groping for an excuse, _anything_. "I just remembered that…the Weasleys had invited me to stay for a while, and wanted me to be there for dinner tonight. I had completely forgotten until now, and it's potato skin night…I really don't want to miss it." Her face turned about ten shades of red at the pathetic lie. "I would have told you earlier, but it slipped my mind. I'm sorry."

"Ah." His grim expression was slightly puzzled as if he, too, was searching for the words to say. "You are free to go then."

"And when should I return?" The question was an afterthought. She hadn't planned on returning, at least not while the maniac was loose. She could still feel the scales rippling over the sensitive skin of her neck. 

"That is not necessary," he answered, crossing his arms across his chest. "Your classes are finished. You have passed and may take the NEWT at the end of next month. I have already registered for you."

"Oh." It was a mix of relief and shock, adding more to confuse her senses. Her mind was on sensory overload. "Well, goodbye then."

"Travel safely, Miss Granger. I'll have my coach take you to the Reynold house."

As if he could sense her anxiety, he made the arrangements quickly and escorted her to the front door. Clouds had moved quickly into the sky, gray and heavy, and looked like it might soon begin to storm. Snape was just a darker shadow in the already shadowy doorway.

Her luggage was loaded and glancing up at a window on the second floor, Hermione could see the contemplative, smirking face of Beatrice staring down at her. Unaware of the house elf's presence, Severus crossed his arms and glared stonily at the carriage as Hermione walked slowly back to the doorway.

Overcome with something that felt little more than pity, she threw her arms around her Professor's waist and muttered a shy, sorrowful, "Thank you, Professor." She released the man, stiff from shock, without looking at him and ran back to the coach, quite certain that those would be the last words that she would ever say to Severus Snape.

* * *

Thanks to: lupinite23 (nope, not Lupin. Actually...Lupin is the complete opposite...), MidnightPrincess, Anarane Anwamane, pickles87 (Thanks, I did), Fou Fou (I know, I feel sorry for Remus, too. It almost makes me want to dump Snape all together and just have Remus and Hermione get together...), Imhilien, Kaliae (probably because he, too, is an older man. If I didn't write for SS/HG, I'd probably write for RL/HG), artemisgirl, EvieBlack, Blatant Discontent (I adore it. Best classic ever), CassandraTheEvil, Luna Writer (Hey...I never said that I would. Remember that evil laughter), Gold-Emerald fairy, Greenleaf, Snapegirl51606, oO-Innocent Dreamer-Oo, crystalclear8050, Jewlzthejujubean, Akasha Ravensong, Cow as White as Milk, Yoshi, Aindel S. Druida, Kaaera, Purple Spotted Hedwig, Lana Manckir, c[R]ud[E]dly (well...the first kiss didn't turn out all that great, did it?), Rylee Smith (academic camp? Why does that actually sound fun to me?), Zvezdana (aw, I still liked the last one), and Neo-Queen Serenity. And Laia, as usual, for betaing. 


	19. Bitterness and the Burrow

**Chapter Eighteen**

_Bitterness and the Burrow_

When Hermione arrived on the doorstep of the lopsided Burrow, with bags surrounding her and the sleeping Crookshanks at her side, she was grating her lip between her teeth and on the verge of tears. She was sure that she looked like a mess. She _was_ a mess, in every way possible. She felt overwhelmed, confused, and abandoned. And if Snape loved her, as Beatrice had said, why did he let her go?

No one seemed to notice her jumbled emotions, not even the abnormally attuned Molly Weasley, who swept into the part of adopted mother immediately upon opening the door and ushered her into the busy house, complaining about how she'd lost weight and how she needed to gain it back and how her hair didn't look like it had seen a comb in weeks.

"Don't they treat you right in that place?" she had asked hurriedly, ordering Fred to take Hermione's things up to Ginny's room. "You're a fright. When was the last time you slept?"

Thankfully, she seemed unaware of the fact that Hermione had been staying with one Professor Severus Snape. She hoped that Ginny had kept the secret, though with the careful, suspicious looks that the abnormally quiet Ron was shooting her, she doubted it.

Dinner was soon served, and, ironically enough, was stuffed potato skins that were so delicious that Hermione, even with her churning stomach, couldn't resist them.

"So…" Hermione began uneasily, trying to break the uneasy silence that only proved to be unnerving. The Burrow was _never_ quiet, especially during dinner, and with two extra guests (Harry was splitting his time between the Burrow and Grimmauld Place, and Luna had gone home a week earlier), she would have thought that everyone would be bursting with blunt observations and prying questions. But Ginny seemed to have complete control of the situation. She, if no one else, had finally noticed the delicate condition of Hermione's nerves, and her talent in hexes was infamous in the family. The Weasley clan kept quiet, and the most exciting moment was when Harry dragged his sleeve through the gravy. Itching with boredom and a burning desire for idle conversation, Hermione took it upon herself to start talking. "How have things been around here?"

"Very well," Mrs. Weasley answered before anyone could say otherwise, emptying a spoonful of green beans onto her plate. "Ron is surpassing the expectations of the Canon trainers."

"Yeah," interjected George. "They say he doesn't even need a broom anymore. The gigantic stick up his arse is actually faster than a Firebolt."

As a wooden serving spoon crashed down upon the unfortunate twin's head and Ron turned a color not found in nature, Hermione couldn't help but smile to herself. It was good to be back.

Though she couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that something was missing.

§

"Yur lessons done 'ready?" Ginny asked through a mouthful of toothpaste suds as she and Hermione got ready for bed that night, both wrapped snuggly in flannel pajamas with their hair pulled back to the napes of their necks. Ginny's red mane was smooth and tamely allowed itself to be tied without any strays making an appearance. Hermione's, however, resembled something that looked more like a nest than anything else. She couldn't help but think that it looked as though they were about to have a slumber party. In all reality, they pretty much were.

"Yes," Hermione answered with a hint of a sigh that she hoped Ginny couldn't detect. "I'm taking the NEWT next month."

"You could have taken them when Ron and Harry did, and you still would have blown them out of the water," the redhead answered after she spit the suds into the sink and wiped her mouth on a bright orange towel.

"Oh well," Hermione answered, putting her own toothbrush away. "What's done is done. At least I get to take it at all."

Ginny's reflection shot Hermione an odd look from the mirror. "You make it sound like it's a privilege. It was your right to take it before, the bastard just screwed you over."

Hermione almost defended him, but decided to bite her lip and sink into a state of quiet disdain.

"I wish you'd cheer up a bit," Ginny said bitterly, moving out of the bathroom and beckoning her friend to follow. "We haven't talked, _really_ talked, since we stayed at Grimmauld place last summer. And even then Lupin or Snape kept tromping up the stairs to tell us to shut up."

Hermione remembered those nights well, when the two of them would stay up till the wee hours of the morning, usually discussing Ginny and her (reciprocated) crush on Harry and how Hermione didn't have a romantic interest in anyone, even Krum, who she was still "sort of kind of" dating. A member of the Order would eventually come up at about two in the morning, at the latest, to tell them that people were trying to sleep and that they're silence would be appreciated. Remus usually requested quiet with a kind smile and a warm glance at Hermione, while Mrs. Weasley had no problem with threats and Snape said nothing but shot warning glances at both of them, his eyes lingering just a bit longer on Hermione.

"They just wanted to sleep," Hermione said, stifling a yawn as they padded down the hallway to Ginny's room.

"Lupin just wanted to see you," Ginny said with a smirk as she opened her bedroom door. "Pervy old man. I suppose he's cute though, for being a bit wrinkly and such. He's been looking quite healthy, lately, though."

Ginny continued with her musings as Hermione sunk into her bed and turned to stare at the wall, hugging air to her chest. She wished that she had Crookshanks to cuddle with, but the nocturnal creature seemed to have suddenly rediscovered his household use and was out stalking gnome holes in the garden.

"Hermione," Ginny said, startling her. She had thought that the girl had gone to sleep. "Why are you here?"

"I was invited," Hermione answered coldly, refusing to turn around and face her, even if it was dark. "Wasn't I?"

"Well, yes, but you didn't seem too keen on the idea. Ron and I were convinced that you would skip out."

"You're mad."

"No, I'm not. You really didn't want to come here. And that just makes me wonder why you showed up on our doorstep one day with all your luggage, looking like you'd been dragged through the mud by a kneazle."

"Crookshanks is half, you know."

"It's an expression," Ginny answered with an irritated sigh. She shifted loudly in her bed, the whisper of cotton and flannel and the loud groans of shifting springs weaving through the air. "Did you and Snape sleep together?"

Hermione could no longer face the wall. She shot straight up in bed, eyes wide in shock and her shoulders rigid. "_What did you say_?"

"I asked if you'd slept together. It would make sense…I've seen it before. Fleur always gets in a row with Bill, usually over sex or something of the sort, and shows up on our doorstep sniffling and thinking that we would be happy to take her in. Honestly, when Bill married her, we didn't think that we'd be taking on a boarder-"

"I did _not_ sleep with Snape!"

"Fine," Ginny said with a slight giggle. "But you better keep it down, otherwise the whole household will hear and think that you did. Fred and George would have a field day."

"What gave you that idea in the first place?" Hermione posed in irritation, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and no longer feeling the need to sleep.

"You just seemed to enjoy staying with him too much. No one in their right mind would like living with him, unless they were shagging him. At least, that's what makes sense to me."

"You are absolutely _awful_, Ginevra Weasley."

"So my mother tells me. But so what? I never said that he wasn't a good shag." Her mischievous grin gleamed white in the moonlight pouring through the small, mismatched windows.

"_Ginny_!"

"Well _something_ must have kept you there. And I'm bloody sure it wasn't the Potions, no matter how much you like them. You fancy him, don't you?"

Hermione didn't answer. She couldn't, she didn't even know what the answer was. She rocked her head to gaze out the window, folding her arms up against her chest. She just bit her tongue and hoped that the girl might take Hermione's silence as her cue to go to sleep.

No such luck.

"Hermione?"

"What?"

"I asked if you fancied him. Do you?"

There was a long drawn out pause, and Hermione just opted for the truth. "I don't know."

"How on earth can you not know? You either do or you don't. Do you get butterflies when you're around him? Do you think he's handsome even though he's _not_? Do you get jealous when you see him talking to other women? Do you wonder what those hands could do to you?"

Yes. Yes. Yes. And oooh, yes. "No," Hermione lied.

"Right, Hermione," Ginny said, her voice disbelieving. "Whatever you say."

The redhead turned in her bed to face away from Hermione, but the mirror on the wall still allowed Hermione a view of her shadowed face.

It was time to let it go. "The house elf told me that Snape loved me."

Ginny choked on a laugh and Hermione frowned at the girl's back. "You're joking."

"I wish I was." Hermione had had enough. This was more than she wanted to admit in a night. She settled back into her bed and pulled the sheets up to her chest, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the seduction of sleep to return to her. Ginny's voice was shooing it away.

"Since when do you believe house elves?" Ginny asked incredulously.

"It makes sense," Hermione answered, letting the confusion of her mind unwind. She couldn't believe that she had just said that…of course it didn't make sense. Severus Snape had a hard time loving anyone…it was impossible that he could love _her_. "Beatrice…the elf…said that he's loved me for a year, when I was still his student. If he tried to act on his feelings he would get fired. And I would probably get in trouble, too, even if I fended it off. So…"

"Even if?" Ginny posed. Hermione could practically hear her eyebrows raise.

Turning a shade of red that rivaled the Weasleys' hair color, Hermione pushed on. "Let me finish." She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. "So he offered me the chance to tutor under him so I could finish his class…at first I thought it was because he felt guilty for dropping me, but I think it was so he could…try to make me fall in love with him."

There. She was finished, and it didn't make any more sense than it had earlier at all. Hermione had thought that saying everything out loud would make it less confusing, but it didn't help. If possible, it made her insides swell up even more inside of her, threatening to cut off her breathing.

"So do you love him?" Ginny asked before Hermione felt as though she could suffocate herself. But it was just the same question, over and over again, and Hermione still didn't have an answer.

"I don't know."

Ginny let it settle there, still not believing her, but becoming too tired to continue badgering her. Before they both drifted off to sleep, Ginny mused allowed, "Snape hasn't grown up, has he? He's like the boys in primary school, showing a girl he likes her by pulling on her hair…but instead he drops you from his class and thinks you'll take the hint…"

§

Ron had become more chipper after the night of her arrival, rushing her with a hug and a "good morning" a few mornings later in a flurry of red hair and Quidditch Dreams, enveloping her with friendly warmth. Harry settled with a brotherly pat on the shoulder and a push to the head, while Fred and George settled with putting an Invisible Flatu-Cushion on her breakfast chair. Ginny had wandered down to the table a half hour after Hermione with messy hair and a faulty memory, not yet remembering their nightly discussion that had become commonplace since Hermione's arrival. It usually took her until eleven to remember Hermione's predicament.

Everyone began their breakfast in a sleepy state, until Ron gathered enough energy to speak.

"You're spending time with me and Harry today," he said through a mouthful of spiced potatoes. "Whether you like it or not. We haven't seen you all summer and it's only fair since you saw Ginny in London." So he _did_ know about their meeting in Diagon Alley. Blast. "It's only fair."

"I'd be more than happy to be with you two," Hermione said, spooning strawberries onto her plate as a random shiver passed down her spine. "As long as you aren't planning on playing Quidditch."

"No, but we might go over to Headquarters for a while. Harry owled Lupin to tell him that you're here and he practically begged for a visit." He tried to say this with good humor, but the expression on his face was obviously bitter. "And Mum wants us to de-gnome, if that's okay. Maybe we could put them in boxes and see if they start fighting…" A deadly look shot from Mrs. Weasley across the table shut him up. "Anyway…are you interested?"

"Sounds appealing," Hermione answered, picking up the new edition of the Daily Prophet that a handsome owl had recently dropped beside her plate.

The feel of her fingertips on the rough paper suddenly stirred up a memory and a lurching feeling in her stomach…

She was in bed, covered in black cotton sheets and blankets, looking through a morning edition of the Daily Prophet without interest. She was having a hard time staying awake, and it didn't even strike her as odd the fact that she had two rings on the second finger of her left hand, a ruby solitaire on a silver setting crowned by a platinum wedding band. She felt a hand fiddling with her hair, entwining itself in messy curls, as another hand landed on her hip and pulled her toward a warm, lean body, her lips crashing to a face with depthless black eyes and a hooked nose…

She had had a dream last night. She didn't even know that she had had one until this shared sense, the feel of the paper under her fingertips, had triggered it and unearthed it from her subconscious. She put the Daily Prophet down, sure that her face was burning so brightly that ships would find her in the daylight. Her heart was beating quicker than if she'd just run from the Great Hall to her dormitory. But no one seemed to notice.

She had dreamed that she had been…intimate with Snape. And, what was worse, she had enjoyed it.

Ginny was having a bad effect on her.

§

It was a relief to not be greeted by the customary rants and screams when Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny rang the doorbell at number 12 Grimmauld Place. Instead, Remus Lupin's face, bright with mild surprise, lit up the doorway as the newly painted door swung inward. Hermione witnessed his own pleasant surprise: Remus had shaved off his mustache.

"Why ring the bell?" Remus asked mildly, holding the door for them as the four filed in. The house looked fantastic – it sure had changed in the time that Hermione had been away. "Harry, you practically live here."

"It was Ron," Harry answered with a shrug. "Not me."

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed, peeking up at the landing of the stairway. "You got rid of the hag! How'd you do it?"

Remus led them into the kitchen where they slouched comfortably into the chairs around the table. Cups of tea immediately appeared in front of them, and they were even _warm_. "New house elf," Remus explained as everyone beside Harry shot him curious looks. "Snape gave him to us after it had a messy row with another elf at his manor. I asked him why he didn't give us the other one, and all he said was that even _he_ wasn't that cruel." The first swallow of tea lit Hermione's brain and face on fire. "Funny, I thought he was."

Ginny caught Hermione's stiff, suffering expression and quickly changed the subject.

"So Professor Lupin," she said in a disgustingly sweet manner that immediately set everyone on guard. Ron's spine straightened in preparation for his little sister's set-up. "Since I'm your favorite student and helped in the Order and everything, I automatically get the highest mark in your class, don't I?"

"That depends. Are you actually going to work?" Remus said with the same false sweetness and a wolfish grin. "If you do, I'll make a half-arsed promise that you won't fail."

"Thanks," Ginny replied dryly, glaring down at her tea.

"Besides, I never thought that giving me a silver chalice for Christmas could be considered helping the Order."

"I forgot!" Ginny protested, on the verge of laughter.

"Like how I'll forget to pass you?"

"Don't argue, Ginny," Ron said with a small smile. "Besides, we all know that Hermione will always be his favorite." It was added as a bitter afterthought, silencing all five of them. Remus, attempting to be brave, tried to meet Ron's eyes, but even the outspoken Weasley turned away.

Hermione swallowed nervously.

"Well…" Harry said after a while. "Anyone up for chocolate?"

Everyone muttered their "sure"s and pieces broken off of chocolate bars and placed carefully in the centers of small plates appeared before them on the table. Hermione was half-wishing for a cup of hot chocolate large enough so that she could drown herself in it.

They finished their chocolate in silence and by the time it was gone, Harry and Ginny were sharing anxious looks and both fidgeting under the table, obviously wanting to go off for a little privacy. Ginny left the kitchen claiming that she had to use the loo, Harry said he had to go get a book from his room, and Ron, unaware of what he was going after, unassumingly followed after them and left Hermione and Remus alone in the kitchen.

"Would you mind keeping me company while I wash the dishes?" Remus asked, gathering the plates from the tabletop and clanking them around to soothe his frazzled nerves.

"I thought you had an elf to do that," Hermione answered, getting up from the table and carefully handing him her own plate.

"I told him that I'd rather do the dishes. It helps me relax, for some reason. I think it's the warm water."

"Oh," Hermione said plainly, her fingers wiggling, hands grasping for something to do. "I'll help you."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "If you want to."

He washed, she dried. She wasn't very used to washing dishes by hand; her parents had a dishwasher and she never had to worry about chores at Hogwarts. Her movements were slightly clumsy as she worked inside the delicate teacups, her inexperience apparent when she dropped one and it shattered into porcelain dust.

She stammered her apologies as Remus pointed his wand at it and it flew back up the counter, reassembling without any evidence that it had been smashed to smithereens.

"Don't worry about it," he said with a tiny, shy smile. She breathed a sigh of relief and flickered her eyes back to the task at hand. She was very aware that Remus was watching her and edging ever closer. She could feel the warmth radiate from him and seep through her clothing, making her hairs stand on edge and her fingers shake slightly, making her work even more difficult. She didn't know why, but for some reason, she was frightened.

She tried to ignore the odd feeling and set the last teacup aside. She reached her left hand over and said, "Could you hand me a plate?"

Instead of a plate, Remus slipped his wet, sudsy hand into hers and grasped it warmly. Surprised, Hermione glanced up at him, her lips parted in questioning. His eyes were bright and kind as he leaned forward and pressed his warm, soft mouth to hers. Hermione inhaled deeply and felt his other hand go behind her neck, weaving dishwater through her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut, still shocked but trying to enjoy it, but only saw darkness.

There were no fireworks, just lips and dishwater, and a love that was nothing more than platonic.

_I'm sorry, Remus_.

He could sense her uneasiness. He pulled away, sadness running rings around his pupils. He pulled his hands away from her and stuffed them shyly into his pockets. His voice was soft as he said, "You don't have feelings for me, do you?"

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, summoning the words to say from a place where sadness didn't reign. Instead, her mind wandered back to the library at Hogwarts…

Something was familiar, but something was wrong.

She played her discovery of the library over in her brain, her eyes traveling far away from a crushed Remus Lupin who was standing, waiting patiently, before her. Something had happened with Snape, there were motions missing, seconds missing in her memory. The fluid motion of time had been chopped apart, somewhere between when she had thanked him and when he had walked wordlessly down the hallway. She didn't remember him walking through the doorway.

Something had happened that she couldn't remember.

Had Snape erased something from her memory? But why? And what was it?

And why did Remus's kiss feel vaguely, if not similarly, familiar? Had Snape…kissed her?

"Hermione?" Remus said gently, coaxing her from her academic mindset lost in thoughts of days before.

"I…don't know," Hermione said, unblinking as she stared into Remus's gentle gray eyes.

"You don't know…what?" he said. He wanted to reach for her hand again, but he held himself back. She wasn't comfortable with it, whatever had just happened, and he didn't want to make a mistake…another one…that he would regret later.

"I…I…" Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "I think…I don't think you're the one for me."

Remus sighed and collapsed at the table, running his fingers through his hair and propping his forehead on his palms. "I thought as much."

"What?" she asked, staying where she was with the dishtowel still hanging limply from her hand.

"You love Snape," he said in a matter-of-fact tone that made the heat rush to Hermione's face. "You have for a while."

"No, I don't," she protested quietly. "He's only a friend…I don't love anyone in that way."

He ignored her remark. "And he loves you."

She had no retort for this. She knew he was right, but the thing she couldn't figure out was why. Everything made sense, but nothing did at the root. How could he love her? It didn't match up. How did the greasy Head of Slytherin fall in love with the know-it-all best friend of Harry Potter? It just didn't _work_. There was no logic. That's what made her afraid.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said solemnly, taking the plate from the dishwater on her own and drying it stubbornly, even after all the drops of water had been wiped away.

"That's fine," he said, a sigh ruffling the edges of his words. "Just thought I'd tell you that today is his fortieth birthday, and that there is one man in this room that would like to see you happy, no matter what it costs him."

"Hermione?" a timid voice said from the doorway. Ginny stood there with her bag shrugged onto her shoulder, looking as if she had broken into something very private where she was not allowed…she had, in all reality. "Um…Harry wants to take me to the…cinething. He said there was a…moving playing that he wanted to see. Is it okay if we went?"

"A movie," Hermione corrected with a sigh. "Yes, that's fine. Is Ron going with you?"

"He fell asleep," Ginny answered, sounding apologetic. "We were just going to leave him here, if you don't mind waking him up when you leave."

"All right," Hermione replied, suddenly feeling very tired herself. "I'll see you later, then."

Ginny's "goodbye" was a muttered wish for escape that she was quickly granted. Remus and Hermione just stood in silence as they heard the front door shut quietly, followed by a few murmurs from Ron who was sleeping somewhere in the parlor that Hermione couldn't see through the doorway.

"You're exactly like him," Remus said sourly when silence and uneasiness had thoroughly permeated the room like an offensive stench.

"Exactly like who, pray tell?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms across her chest.

"You even talk like him," he scoffed. "If you weren't so much prettier, I would think that you were the same person."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"I don't want to fight with you, Hermione," he said, turning his head away to glare at the paintings on the wall, wishing that he could tear the gawking faces into shreds with his mind. Maybe when there was a full moon… "You're exactly like him, because you don't want to admit your own weaknesses."

"Love isn't a weakness." She couldn't help but make a face.

"In a practical sense…it's the difference between success and failure. You don't want to take the chance, even if you're practically guaranteed to succeed. Someone gives you fact and all you see is the small uncertainty."

"I'm not afraid of failure," Hermione argued vehemently with the stubborn tone of a primary school child being called on her faults. "I like to think of myself as…dangerous."

A disbelieving, if not amused, eyebrow lift was the only reply she received from her torturer.

Hermione finally made her grumbled confession, "I'm very confused."

Whatever Remus could have said in reply was cut off before he opened his mouth as a muffled crack cut through the stuffy room. A ruddy house elf with unusually small ears had appeared in the center of the wooden floor, scuttling silently across the planks with a steady expression. He didn't even glance at them and went to finish the dishes that the two humans had started and left undone, going about his work as if they didn't even exist.

Recovering his composure and turning his distraction away from the elf and back to the flustered Hermione, he said, "Perhaps you should sit down."

She obliged wordlessly and flopped down in the chair next to him, the worn upholstery refusing to cushion her fall. A fire sprung up in the fireplace, lighting Remus's kind eyes aflame.

He took her hand, but not forcefully. His grasp was gentle and compliant, the positions of his fingers translating concern.

"Do you doubt that he loves you?" he asked. The elf pushed on, uninterested in the revelations concerning his former master being carried out before him.

"I have a hard time believing that it's possible," she answered, her eyes focused intently on the free hand that she had securely fastened to her knee. "I never thought that he even _liked_ me."

"Of course he liked you. You were always his favorite student."

"You're joking," Hermione stated in stolid disbelief.

"He rather thought that you enjoyed his company…"

"Until he tried to change himself."

Remus's face suddenly unknotted itself, and an understanding expression came over his face that conveyed one simple word: "oh".

"You didn't appreciate that," he replied blandly, but not without a small, knowing smirk.

"No." She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "It bothered me. It made me realize that he's…fine the way he is."

"So you love him, then." There was a distant twinkle in his eyes.

Hermione made a disgusted noise. "You need to stop seeing things in black and white. What ever happened to shades of gray?"

"I asked you a question." He couldn't help but think that the situation was a bit funny. This was the first time that he had asked her a question and she hadn't been waving her hand in the air, begging him to call on her. Instead, she seemed to sink ever lower in her chair.

"I hardly think that saying he's 'fine the way he is' constitutes as loving him."

"I think it does. You don't want to change him, even though he's a greasy, inconsiderate, manipulative excuse for a man. If that's not love, I don't know what is."

"It's not love," Hermione protested coldly. "I'm just used to him the way he is. It would be odd if he was any different."

"Hermione…" The grasp on her hand became surprisingly tighter. "With your permission, I'm going to kiss you again. And after I do, I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to answer it truthfully."

Two twin spots of pink appeared on Hermione's face, but she murmured her hesitant agreement.

But before Remus could lean forward, she put a hand on his chest, pushing him back away from her.

"Remus," she said gently. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I love you," he answered without shame, without a grimace. "And I want to see you happy." An amused smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. "And, according to Ginny, I'm a perverted old man that will say anything to get his jollies."

The kiss began gently, sweet and tender, progressing slowly into something a bit more passionate. _So this is what it feels like to be loved…_ Hermione's eyes were squeezed very tightly shut, as if she was trying to conjure something out of thin air, or imagine that the person kissing her was someone else…

When Remus pulled away, he asked immediately, "When I kissed you, who did you wish that I was?"

She just stared at him, unblinking, trying to register this man's actions and his words within her thoughts.

Then something shifted in Hermione's mind, a lost memory clicked into place.

Certain memories were possible to regain. Memories lost due to certain spells, such as _Obliviate_, despite its name, were not actually erased from the mind but sent somewhere set deep in the subconscious, on the level saved for dreams. And, like dreams, could be jolted back to the conscious by familiarities, like déjà vu or common senses. Hermione had experienced a remembrance of her dream when she picked up the Daily Prophet that very morning.

And like the Daily Prophet, Remus's kiss triggered a memory suppressed somewhere within her mind. She remembered that moment that had been missing like the last puzzle piece from that afternoon in the library, between when she had thanked the Potions master and when he had left.

He had approached her quickly, leaving her no time to step back in surprise. But now that she thought about it, she wasn't certain that she had wanted to. His mouth was urgent, desperate, she could hear his breaths coming quickly, could feel his fingers in his hair, could smell his indescribable scent, and didn't want it to end. His warmth had melted into her and stirred something deep inside of her. She was kissing Severus Snape, and that fact made her happy. And it reminded her of Remus's kiss in the fact that she had thought the exact same words…

_So this is what it feels like to be loved…_

"He kissed me," Hermione murmured, forgetting that Remus had even asked her a question to begin with it.

His expression was a mixture between relief and stiff disappointment. The corners of his mouth turned upward, but his eyes sank into the floor.

"Did he?" he said.

"And I liked it."

He had kissed her.

And she had liked it. No, she had more than liked it.

And he had erased it from her memory…or so he thought.

"You did."

"Remus…" She grasped his hand tightly, apologetically, and swallowed her regrets. "You're right."

He smiled bravely. "A small compensation."

"Remus…" Her heart was fluttering, her face was flushed, and she couldn't help but break into a smile. "I love Severus Snape."

"Why?" A new voice broke into Hermione's moment of revelation, startling both Remus and Hermione out of their private reverie. Ron was standing in the doorway, his hair mussed from sleep, with a livid and jealous expression burning away in the pits of his eyes.

Before he could even wait for an explanation, Ron darted for the door. Without even thinking, Hermione sprang after him and shoved the door out of her way, feeling the unusually cold hair crash into her as she ran outside after the red haired young man.

"Where are you going?" Hermione shouted into the dark street at the dim shadow of Ron's retreating back.

"I'm going to have a little talk with your dear Snape!" Ron yelled back, rousing a few open windows from the neighbors as people peeked out to see what the din was all about, but could see nothing in the night.

A loud crack echoed through the lane, like the backfire of a car, rattling the windowpanes and reverberating painfully in Hermione's head like she had just been shot. She stood still in the middle of the road, letting what had just happened sink into her skin like the bitter cold of the air.

Wordlessly, she went back up the steps and into the house, shutting the door softly behind her.

"He's going to get himself into trouble," Remus said as she walked back into the kitchen, pale and stunned. "Anyone challenging Snape is bound for trouble, especially a Weasley."

"I know." Hermione slumped against the wall, feeling like she had just run a marathon. Her face was still frozen in the same surprised expression and her forehead was throbbing painfully.

A new, kinder voice invaded their conversation. "Did Master say that the Weazey has gone to see the Master Snape?" the house elf said quietly from the corner, picking up the plates from the countertop.

"Yes, Merf," Remus said in a sigh. "I did."

"Beatrice will not like that…" Merf said with a tiny shrug of his shoulders and an accompanying sigh. "She does not like being disturbed. She especially does not like it when someone says something bad about the master."

"Well, Beatrice can shove a sock in it," Hermione replied bitterly, crossing her arms across her chest once again.

"Beatrice is an evil, evil creature," whispered the wide-eyed house elf as he levitated the dishes into their respective cupboards. "She is being like the You-Know-Who of house elves, Miss. House elves do not like to say her name. She killed my brother, Miss, with only a tea strainer."

Hermione bit her tongue, hard, and looked questioningly at Remus. He looked skeptical and shrugged.

"Please do not doubt Merf, miss," the house elf said in a reverent whisper with all the respect he could muster. "Doubting Merf will only lead to trouble for the Weazey or for the Master Snape. Please, miss, please go help them. Beatrice is a bomb, if something disturbs her, she will go boom!" The elf made an exaggerated gesture that would have been laugh-worthy at a different time.

"What happens if I stay here?" Hermione defiantly asked with a lifted eyebrow. Remus only made an incredulous noise.

"Believe me, miss," Merf replied in a whisper. "If no one stops her, there will be blood spilled tonight."

The prophetic statement rung oddly in Hermione's mind as she stared at the creature, confused, half of her wondering what she was waiting for. It seemed silly, really, thinking that a murderous house elf would kill her best friend if he so much as called Snape a bad name. It would have been a lot funnier if she didn't know what Beatrice was capable of.

Then it finally struck her, the reason she had begun to help Snape find a mate in the first place…the curse. The curse would reach its final point on the evening of Snape's fortieth birthday.

Suddenly, the statement that Remus had made about it being Severus's birthday made a lot more sense. If she didn't get there before midnight, he was going to die.

"Just go, Hermione," Remus commanded with a serious tone that threatened to shatter her heart into pieces. "Go, for both your sake and Ron's."

Hermione walked determinedly to the fireplace, her wand held firmly in her hand. Grabbing a pinch of Floo Power and throwing it into the fireplace, she knew that she didn't have only one life to save.

The fire glowed green; her muscles were burning.

"Reynold House!" With that, she stepped into the flames, leaving lost love behind her to pray selfishly for her return.

* * *

Poor Remus. Though honestly, the tea strainer intrigues me... That's one thing I admire about Beatrice, she's rather creative. 

Thanks to: CassandraTheEvil, cRudEdly (maybe he would say that...and obliviate anyone he said it to:)), SlytherinSide85, Lana Manckir, Akasha Ravensong, grangerhermoine, pickles87 (Cliffhangers are a good literary minipulation. Makes you want to come back, doesn't it :)?), Kaliae, cherriebaby, crystalclear8050, MidnightPrincess, Katrina Stardust (yeah...I don't do sex scenes. So, if it ever seems like I'm leading up to it, be confident that I'll worm out of it somehow), Sailorsun195, Blatant Discontent, EvieBlack, The Lady Elizibeth, oO-Innocent Dreamer-Oo, Cow as White as Milk, sweetevangeline, lupinite23, moviebuff101, googleplexia, Jewlz, Purple Spotted Hedwig (I'm glad I am, too :)), Aindel S. Druida (happily ever after? Huh?), Fou Fou, Soki, KidWonder:TheCrashTestDummy (thanks for your review, it made me smile :) ), Greenleaf, Zvezdana (Never, I say!), MissSiriusBlack1020, Rylee Smith, and Captain Oblivious (I'm very, very happy that this story has been able to appeal to people of different tastes. I think it's one of the reasons that I'm enjoying writing it so much. Thanks for reading!).

My beta's also leaving on holiday, so any mistakes in this chapter are mine.

Thank you for your reviews!


	20. A Battle of Wills

**Chapter Nineteen**

_A Battle of Wills_

The thunder shook the manor with such force that Severus Snape was certain that the earth would open up beneath him and swallow him whole. Not that he cared, of course. It actually might have been a nice change, dying. He had escaped it quite a few times already, it was bound to catch up with him eventually. Bring on the earth quakes, the lightning, the floods and the rampaging dunderheads, he would welcome them with open arms. As long as disaster allowed him to finish his crossword puzzle, first. 

"Here's your tea, Master," Beatrice said sweetly, pushing it on to the table while he ignored her. He could smell the honey drifting up on the steam. He almost asked her what she had done this time, but thought better of it. It was better just to let it go, and hope to Merlin that she hadn't used the tea strainer. 

He made an indistinct noise and waved her away, chewing on the eraser of his pencil as he mulled over a three-letter slang word synonymous to "unkind, callous person". 

"Does the Master require Beatrice for any more work?" the house elf asked anxiously. "Would the Master like biscuits? Crumpets? Chocolate? The library dusted? A worker decapitated? Or would he like Beatrice to go straight to his bed and wait for him?" 

"Get away from me, foul creature," Snape replied, refusing to even glance up at her from his puzzle. His inattention obviously flustered her greatly. "Before I lock you up again." 

She bowed low to the ground and made her huffy exit, complaining loudly about how no one appreciated her anymore. Truth be told, there wasn't much to appreciate. 

The word had him stumped. He moved on to the next one, planning to go back to it later. 

The manor was quiet, too quiet. He was quite aware that today was his fortieth birthday, and knew that if no one (human) proclaimed her love for him by midnight, he would remain a piteous object with greasy hair and a crooked nose forever, and his manor would be permanently lost in shadow. He could see two paths in his mind: he could shut himself up in his room, quit his job, and remain there until he died from old age and perpetual ugliness, clinging on to the psychopath house elf as his only company. Or he could continue on with his life as he had been, only completely sucked of any hope for happiness. He'd probably be teaching miniature Remus Lupins - buck-toothed werewolves - or perhaps bushy-haired Weasleys in little over a decade. He would be prone to hold biases against them worse than the one he had held over Potter. They would never know what hit them. 

His door was open, just so he could hear the rumble of thunder echo through the cavernous entrance hall. It was the only noise besides his own breathing, his own cold heart beating. It was almost as if the walls were holding their breaths, waiting, and the clocks had stopped ticking though their hands still moved toward the dreaded twelfth hour. Even the usually boisterous portraits were silent. 

"Git," a voice said from the doorway. 

"Ah, that's it," Snape scribbled the letters _g-i-t_ into the three blank boxes on his black and white grid. He wasn't surprised by Ronald Weasley's appearance, even though he hadn't been expecting him nor had he heard him enter. If Cornelius Fudge himself appeared in front of him and proposed marriage, that would also fail to phase him. He had shut his mind off, warding himself into a dull state where he could feel neither pain nor pleasure. A few shots of particularly nasty vodka didn't mind helping it along. 

Meticulously, Snape set the crossword aside and posed coldly, "May I help you, Weasley?" 

Weasley actually looked rather surprised, himself. Though his reddened face was set in a grim expression, his eyes betrayed a state of confusion (not uncommon to the boy). Fat droplets of water glistened in his fiery hair, and his robes were soaked through and dripping on his floor. 

"I want to know what you did to Hermione," Weasley demanded. His hand was at his side, fingers curving around the wood of his wand. 

"Try to make sense, boy," Snape replied with a bored sigh. "I did nothing to Miss Granger other than prepare her for her NEWT. Now why don't you leave? I have a particularly caring house elf that can show you the way out." 

"You did something to Hermione." Weasley's voice was shaking, as if he was uncertain of himself. Hopefully he wouldn't make Severus get up from his chair. He had just gotten quite comfortable. 

"I have no idea what you're babbling about." 

"You put a spell on her, slipped her a potion, _something_!" 

"You are speaking." Snape rolled his eyes at the wall. "And yet I hear nothing. Do try to make sense." 

Ron's voice was an unstable growl now. "You made her think that she's in love with you." 

Well, that was news. It was almost enough to push Severus from his chair and corner the boy, demanding that he tell him where he had heard this information. Almost. 

"Unfortunate girl," Snape answered in disbelief. "Weasley, I'd prefer that you run to your mummy with your nightmares rather than me. I suspect that she's much more tolerant." 

Weasley ignored his comment. "I heard her talking to Professor Lupin…Remus, and she turned him down because she said that she was in love with _you_." This was enough to elicit a raised eyebrow. Weasley looked plainly disgusted. "I want to know what you did to her, and _why_, you perverted old bastard." 

She loved him. That couldn't be. Not after how she reacted when he had kissed her. Not after when she danced with the coveted werewolf who loved her. Not when she left. 

"What does it matter?" Snape replied with a sneer. "She's gone now." 

"And she still wants _you_." Ron's wand was drawn now, held steadily at Snape's chest. He was threatening his former Professor. 

"I doubt that you're doing this because you feel for Remus," Snape replied. "Your actions are…what's the motive, would you say? Unrequited love? Jealousy? Am I somewhere within range?" Snape was out of his seat quickly, wand drawn, watching a frightened Weasley back uneasily out of his room and into the entrance room balcony. 

"Don't be a fool boy," Snape spat out as Ron tried determinedly to keep his wand hand steady. "Rash decisions won't do you any good." 

"I want you to fix her," Ron demanded, realizing that he was getting too close to the railing and maneuvered to press against the wall. "I want you to undo everything that you did to her." 

Merlin, the kid was annoying. Snape half-wondered whether blood would stain white marble. 

"For one final time, Weasley, I did nothing. Anything that Miss Granger feels or does not feel for me is by her own will, not mine." 

The over-zealous redhead did not drop his wand. If he didn't begin to learn when he was facing his betters, he would get himself killed. Though if the boy had been in his right mind, he might know what an idiot he was being. But that was an awfully big "might". 

"I don't understand," he finally said. 

"Must I speak in words with only one syllable?" 

"How do I know that you're not lying?" Ron cornered. "Why should I believe you?" 

"Because I have nothing to gain by lying." Enough of this foolishness. Snape pocketed his wand, frowning when Ron didn't follow suit. "You know, Mr. Weasley, it's considered bad manners to threaten an unarmed wizard." 

Ron's face was frozen in an expression of grim determination, almost as if he'd been born and raised that way to embody the spirit of Gryffindor house. His façade screamed, "I will win, suffer, and enjoy it!" while his knees shook and his addled brain ached for rest. It was tiresome to watch. 

Suddenly, Ron struck him with Snape's first true surprise all evening; not a spell, but words connected with little magical meaning and a lot of power. 

"You love her, don't you?" 

Snape examined him carefully with an arched eyebrow, trying not to show how the l-word had ruffled his senses and put him on guard. "If I say yes, will you put the wand down?" 

"What, scared?" 

"No, just annoyed." 

"Bastard," spat Ron through gritted teeth. 

"Well," replied Snape dryly. "I don't believe that I did anything to warrant that title." 

"You drew a breath." 

"Ah." He was becoming quite bored. Perhaps the Weasley could settle down enough for some tea. "How poetic." 

He turned back to enter his room when a small shape standing in his doorway stopped him. It was Beatrice, her head lowered defensively, wearing what looked like a piece of very lacy tablecloth and meat thermometers pierced through her weighted-down ears. A drop of blood dropped to the floor from the fresh holes. 

"Did the Weazey just threaten Beatrice's master?" 

"You're losing your touch, Beatrice," Snape said, trying to get past her. She didn't budge and just looked past him, as though he didn't exist. "He's been threatening me for several minutes. Perhaps you should go and punish yourself for inattentiveness. Sticking your head in the oven could do a world of good." 

She further ignored him, making him quite agitated. She pushed his legs apart and squeezed through them, which felt disconcertingly odd to poor Snape, and held out her hand to Weasley, almost as if she was beckoning him to take it. 

Then Weasley fell to the ground, almost as if he had slipped, but he hadn't taken a step. It was then that Snape saw that the bottoms of Ron's trousers were shredded and he had blood seeping through the already wet fabric, it was almost as if he had been attacked by a particularly enthusiastic cat. His teeth were gritted as he exclaimed with all the class a Weasley could have, "What the hell was that?" 

Beatrice was grinning wildly, and Snape noticed that she had blood underneath her fingernails. 

This was becoming somewhat creepy. 

"Beatrice," Snape warned as the elf fixed her eyes on Ron, he irises glinting with evil rage. "I can handle this. Go. Away." 

"Nonsense, Master," Beatrice answered, her voice disturbingly chipper. Weasley began to thrash on the floor in pain as though someone had just hit him with the Cruciatus curse. Snape felt a knot tie in his stomach as he observed the boy who was still convulsing on the ground. Ron had dropped his wand and it had rolled away from him, coming precariously close to the edge. "Master may go sit down. This is Beatrice's work. Beatrice will take care of the Weazey." 

"Beatrice," Snape said again, cautiously, almost dangerously. It was like seeing how long he could wrestle with a dog without her biting him. Except this was a bit more dangerous. If he rubbed her the wrong way, there's no telling what she would do to him. "Beatrice said that the Master can go…sit…down." 

Ron had stopped shuddering now and was laying in a heap, breathing raggedly, on Snape's formerly clean floor. 

"Look, you're making a mess," Snape coaxed as Ron shot him a very frightened look. Beatrice's eyes were fixed on him, unmoving, and it was no wonder he was scared. The elf looked positively feral. "Let me take care of him, I'm much neater when it comes to torture and the like." 

"Snape…" Ron managed to breathe in a raspy voice. "I-I can't move." 

"Beatrice will clean up when she's finished," the elf replied sweetly. Another scratch, longer this time, tore across Ron's upper thigh. Weasley groaned in pain. 

"Beatrice…" Snape's wand was drawn now; he would use force if he had to. Weasley was _not_ going to die, especially not in _his_ house. "I'm not suggesting. Get out now, or I'm sending you to the laundry room." 

She was unfazed by his threat, surprisingly. When he had threatened her with socks before, she had bellowed and hollered and slammed her head in the door until he said that he forgave her. He missed those days. 

"Beatrice was not suggesting either, _Mr. Snape_," she answered, her voice suddenly cold. 

"Help me," Weasley muttered pathetically from the floor. Snape was almost going to until he felt his wand fly out of his hand and land near the boy's crumpled form. 

"Beatrice said…" The elf turned around slowly, her eyes narrowed and the meat thermometers wobbling on either side of her head. Red blood stains were smeared across her formerly white attire, but Snape couldn't tell if it was Ron's or her own. "Go. Sit. Down." 

The wind was knocked out of him as he was hurled backward, off of his feet, and cried out in pain as he felt the back of his head collide with the railing. It felt as though he had split his head in half, and he could feel the blood trickling down his neck. It was a pain worse than he had ever felt before. 

The world teetered before him, spinning and swinging dangerously to an off-beat, off-key tune. 

_So this…is what dying…feels likes…_

The last things he saw were Weasley's shock of red hair and his pleading eyes before succumbing to blackness. 

§

The carriage was gone when she arrived at the Reynold house; the caretaker was fast asleep in his chair and even a slap across the face couldn't wake him up. Hermione could hear thunder in the distance, though she was quite sure that it was much closer than it sounded. 

So she ran. Night had fallen quickly, and it was later than Hermione had thought. Her watch read 11:30. Had she really stayed at Remus's that long? No wonder Ron had fallen asleep. 

She had to keep focused; on what was happening _now_. She was running out of time, and it was coming to her attention that she wasn't in very good shape. She had an incredibly painful stitch in her side and was having trouble breathing as she ran, tripped and grumbled down the road. She was now drenched, too, from walking into a waterfall of rainwater as soon as she passed through the gate. It was storming. How perfect. 

She almost had to laugh out loud. She had always been paranoid about thunder storms, staying away from high buildings, windows, and trees. Now the thunder and lightning were directly over her and she was running through ancient woods, practically inviting the white light to come and strike her or the trees that towered over her head. And who she was running _after_, and _why_, was laugh-worthy enough. 

This summer was turning out to be decidedly odd. 

She was shivering in the cold, her teeth chattering as water dripped from her matted-down hair and she struggled to see through the torrents of rain. She slipped a few times but kept her balance, and her shoes and trousers were splattered with mud. The damn rain was slowing her down. 

She had one little hope left as the second hand spun in her watch, flying through the minutes quicker than she could see. Her Time-Turner. She could still have time, if he had brought it back with him…she could save him. 

She prayed wistfully, her lungs aching for breath. "Please let him have brought the Time-Turner home." 

11:40. She couldn't breathe and the pain in her side made it difficult to move. She wanted to curl up in a ball on the side of the road to relieve the cramp. But she pushed on. 

At 11:52, she arrived in the gardens. Forgetting the ache, forgetting everything but her goal, Hermione sprinted up the path, past the deserted carriage, and pushed the door open with all the strength she could muster. 

The entrance room was dark, its white marble dull and refusing to reflect any light. Numerous objects had been tossed to the ground and laid in ruins. Cabinets, bottles, vases, all laid in splinters and shards as if the furniture had fought a war. She could hear muffled yells and shouts from up the stairs and saw flickering candlelight dance on the edges of the walls above. 

"Master will have nothing left to love…no more Potions! No more books! No more puzzles! He will only have Beatrice. And he will love Beatrice…" 

Her voice was interlaced with a groan that sounded like Ron's. 

Hermione still stood in the doorway, afraid to step inside, frightened that as soon as she set foot on the marble something would come crashing down on her head. She pressed herself against the wall, edging over to the stairway, just in time for a small wooden cabinet to crash down where she had been standing just seconds before. 

Then the oddest thing happened. Instead of completely sacrificing itself to the polished stone, the cabinet cracked at the contact, splintered, reassembled itself, and flew right back from where Beatrice had thrown it as if it had bounced off the floor. As soon as it reached its first destination it hurled itself down once again and went back, almost like a videotape being rewound. 

Hermione swore under her breath. The Time-Turner had been destroyed, hurled down in the cabinet and shattering its magic so that the cabinet was stuck in a time-loop, forever to commit suicide from the landing over and over again and never losing a splinter. 

11:55. Time seemed to be speeding up, racing her to the finish. And her Plan B had been destroyed. 

Her next conscious moment, she found herself on the landing in front of Snape's bedroom, standing dangerously close to the edge of the stairs. Beatrice still hadn't noticed her arrival; she was too busy levitating Snape's possessions, what looked to be everything from his bedroom except for his nightstand and his bed, and sending them hurtling to the floor far below. Ron was laying there, whimpering, eyes widening at her arrival. Fortunately, he still had enough of his wits about him to know when not to say anything. He was injured, but not too badly. She could heal him quickly. Later. She had more important matters to tend to. 

The elf still hadn't noticed her, but Hermione could see a shadow, a man-shaped darkness, slumped against the railing with his head nodded off to the side. Even in the shadows, she could see that a small puddle of blood had formed beneath his skull, dripping hesitantly from his lank hair. 

She was too late. 

Her voice cut off inside of her, she growled, "Beatrice." Her voice was choked, unnatural, filled with rage. 

"Hermione, no!" Ron protested. Hermione should have listened to him. She was hit by a wave of magic so strong that she almost fell down the stairs. Dizzily, she regained her balance and fell forward onto her knees, seeing Beatrice walk toward her with meat thermometers swinging in her ears. 

"Beatrice," the elf hissed in a low voice. "told the Mudblood to never come back." 

Something told Hermione that perhaps she had noticed her arrival after all. Hermione groped for her wand and panicked, noticing that it was gone. 

Horror-struck, she realized that Beatrice was spinning it deftly between her fingers. 

"Mudblood is nothing without its wand," she said in a slithering tone that could be likened to that of Voldemort himself. "Poweful wand. Very good tool to kill owner with…" 

"Hermione," Ron pleaded, struggling against his invisible bonds. Glancing to the side, she noticed that Snape's wand was just inches away from his fingertips, but he couldn't reach as long as he was bound. Hope was always just out of reach, always close enough to mock you and watch you fail. "Hermione, just leave!" 

She was on her knees, in mock submission, it seemed, to the house elf's wishes. Her world was spiraling out from underneath her. Her head bowed down, knowing that there was nothing she could do lest the elf kill her. She wondered if living without Severus would really be worth it. 

Beatrice was so near…she could hear each raspy breath, smell the blood that had been dribbled on her clothing… 

Snape's body was still slumped behind the elf. It was too late. There was nothing she could do. 

"Hermione!" Ron yelled again. His voice sounded distant, far away, muffled by the seconds as they quickly approached midnight. 

The clock struck twelve, its fateful tones ringing out strongly, disastrously, through the cavernous hall. 

Her voice was barely more than a mutter, a bitter, hasty wish. "Kill me." 

A grim smile stretched across Beatrice's face; Hermione could hear the delight in her voice. 

"Beatrice would love to." 

Hermione felt the smooth point of wood of her own wand press against the flesh of her forehead, directly between her eyes, the pressure, like Beatrice was trying to leave her mark. 

"_Stupefy!_" 

Hermione saw a flash of light and then darkness; not of death, but from hiding behind closed eyelids. Her eyes snapped open just in time to see Beatrice's small form flip limply over the railing of the balcony and careen to the floor below. The sickening thud of her landing was mixed with the cracks and tinkles of broken glass. 

Ron had broken free from Beatrice's bonds and was slumped against the wall, Snape's wand in his hand, looking embarrassed and surprised even with himself. He was breathing heavily, staring at Hermione without blinking. 

She swallowed the lump in her throat, turned away from Ron, and rushed toward Snape, kneeling on the floor beside him and moving her hand underneath his head, into the hair matted with blood. His closed eyes were lost in shadows, his lips parted slightly as if he had been caught in surprise. 

With tears swimming in her eyes and threatening to cascade over her cheeks, Hermione brushed the fingertips of her other hand across his cheeks, on the bridge of his nose, over his still eyelids. All she could hear was the splintering crash of the cabinet caught in the time-loop, reassembling and sacrificing itself to the marble floor over and over again. 

"Severus…" she murmured, hunching over to place a gentle, tear-stained kiss on his cold lips. Ron made a noise, which sounded like an emotional mix of jealousy, disgust, and pity as she pulled away, pushing his dark hair away from his forehead. Her words wouldn't rise above a whisper. "I love you." 

As she let go of him, his head nodded to the side, too heavy for the loose, unclenched muscles in his neck. And there his face remained, cheek pressed to the cold marble floor, tip of his nose brushing the dust, his eyes shut fast to the world that passed around him as he laid in silence. 

They couldn't hear a breath escape from his lips, still slick from Hermione's tears.

* * *

Thanks to: HunnySnowBunny, Kaliae (Yeah...I felt bad for Remus. I do love him, really), babydoll125, Lana Manckir, Akasha Ravensong, oO-Innocent Dreamer-Oo, Snapegirl51606, Anarane Anwamane, Kaaera (oops...sorry, another cliffhanger. Though...is it considered a cliffhanger if everyone is already dead?), c[R]ud[E]dly (yeah...I wasn't a big fan of the 'stache. I liked Thewlis, just not the mustache), Bronwyn, Blatant Discontent (I don't know what I was going for, really, but it made me laugh, too.), Greenleaf, Captain Oblivious, Tikina, pickles87 (I'm too shy to write steamy scenes, really. And inexperienced. I think I'll stick to writing about things. Thanks for the suggestion, though. I'm a prude!), Cow as White as Milk, CassandraTheEvil, Zephyre (double post! Clicked twice, eh? Thanks for your reassurance. The chapter before this one made me want to throw a fit; I had such a hard time writing it), EvieBlack, Imhilien, Satern Mya, jewlzthejujubean, Nymphadora Tonks the 2nd, Gold-Emerald fairy, magictwinkle, LuthienSunStar, moviebuff101, lupinite23 (I won't...I didn't? Hmm...), Aindel S. Druida (Thanks so much for referring friends. Oddly, that's one of the things that makes me the most happy, when my fans recruit other people to read.), Luna Writer (Don't worry about rambling, I am the Queen of Rambling Posts. I think I annoy more than praise in my reviews (at least in the few ones I do leave...I'm so bad about writing them), and charmed piper. Phew, that's a lot of reviews. 

Again, this chapter went un-betaed since Laia is on vacation. All mistakes are mine. 

Only an epilogue left! It will probably be posted either Thursday or Friday. In the mean time, reviews (death threats, rants, etc.) are very much appreciated. 


	21. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The day was unusually bright, blasphemously so, and sunlight poured through the dappled clouds and capped each thorny bush and shy, newly emerging flower with a crown of gold. The silent coffin was cold in spite of the sun, and the shine that it reflected seemed demure, gray. The grass sloshed under Hermione's feet, still cushioned with mud from the rain. Her head was bowed, her brow wrinkled with disbelief and confusion. Ron stood beside her, a shovel leaning against his side, distractedly examining his blisters while his face reddened with unspoken shame. With a sigh, Hermione levitated the coffin in to the grave and it settled itself in the ground, nestling into it as if the wood had found its root in the mud and remains of its ancestors. Ron began, grudgingly, his neck burning red as the sun beamed upon it, to fling dirt on to the shining wood, until the hole was filled and it resembled every other grave that sat, quietly, in the family plot. Hermione skimmed the fresh dirt with her heel; the plot seemed so small and insignificant.

"Well," said Ron, stepping back and reaching up his other raw hand to scratch nervously at his scalp. "Should we say anything? A few words, maybe?"

"I don't think there's anything left to be said," she answered, turning back to the manor and beginning to walk away. "I think it's time for you to go home, Ron."

The shovel clanged as it fell to the ground, and the red-haired young man hurried to catch up with her. "Hermione, I hope you're not sore with me."

"A little," she said, walking faster. It was hard to get away from him; his legs were too long. She didn't feel like being in his company at the moment. She'd much rather be somewhere else. "But I think it's time for you to go."

"Yeah, probably" he said, sounding uneasy. They rounded the side of the manor, weaving past the open windows and the puddles that riddled the grass; they all gleamed blindingly in the fresh sunlight. As they approached the front door, Ron stopped in his tracks, crossing his arms across his wide chest, slumping his shoulders. "I suppose I'll be seeing you later then?"

"Yes," she allowed him a tiny smile. "You will."

To his surprise, she hugged him tightly, breathing in deeply his favorite scent that smelled oh-so-much of freshly cut grass and gasoline, and released him. She looked up into his eyes, her expression unreadable, and said, "Thank you, Ron, for saving me, even if you did act like a complete git."

He could only nod as he watched her walk slowly up the path, push open the front door with some difficulty, and turn to wave at him before the door slammed shut, its sound of wooden rejection echoing through the gardens.

He turned, the broken rock crunching under his feet, and began to make his way home.

§

Hermione had her knees drawn up to her chest, thoroughly engrossed in a Daily Prophet crossword with pencil smudges smeared across her fingers and a streak of gray from the eraser running across her forehead. The figure beside her in the bed shifted slightly, breathing a deep sigh, mumbling something, and jumped as soon as he noticed that he was not alone.

Severus Snape's eyes snapped open and Hermione scrambled off of the bed, face burning, and she dropped the crossword onto the twisted sheets. He didn't look angry, but confused…and in pain. He slowly sat up in bed with a groan, bringing a pale hand to his bandaged head and wincing. He looked over at Hermione, but didn't even seem surprised at her presence.

The house elves, who had stayed with him all morning, nursing his injuries, crept forward to observe their master more closely. But Hermione waved them away, gesturing that she obviously wanted them to get out of the room. They followed her order and all vanished with a soft "pop".

To her surprise, the first thing he said, his voice grating and laden with sleepiness, was, "Today's my fortieth birthday."

Great. He had bumped his head on a railing and had gone completely mad. "That was yesterday…sir," Hermione answered, her voice wavering. "Are you all right?"

"Yes…" he answered, sounding uncertain of himself. "Yes, I believe I am. Not the best I've ever been, but not the worst, either. Pounding headache, though." He squinted his left eye and looked at her suspiciously. "What are you doing here, Hermione?"

He had called her by her first name. That was a good sign. Carefully, carefully, she climbed back on to his bed, kneeling, reaching out for his hand and hoping to Merlin that he wouldn't pull it away. If Beatrice and Lupin were right, if he did love her, he wouldn't.

"I came back," she answered, embracing his fingers within hers, running her thumb against the back of the warm, soft hand. He didn't pull away, and instead turned his grasp around and gripped her fingers, squeezing firmly. "I was afraid that Ron…that Ron might hurt you, so I came back." An anxious hand went to brush against his chin, coarse with days of unshaven stubble.

He smirked grimly. "How very Gryffindor of you."

She gave him her own smirk in reply. "I thought that you might say that."

"Taking up Divination now, are you?"

She scoffed in mock disdain. "Never."

His free hand went up to frame her face, eyes narrowed as if he was trying to understand something, his brow furrowed in concentration. The tips of his fingers brushed warm trails across her lips.

"You love me," he said, a wave of uncharacteristic uncertainty faltering in his voice.

"Now who's taking up Divination?" was her reply as she bent forward to kiss him. It was short, simple, chaste, and Hermione pulled away smiling. Snape didn't exactly smile, but his face seemed cheerier than usual. His breathing was labored as he bent forward to kiss her again, his fingers entwining in her hair. His mouth opened, beckoning hers to do the same, but Hermione was overcome by sudden shyness. He sensed her uneasiness and the heat from her face and stopped.

When he pulled away, his face flushed, he asked, "Do I look any different to you?"

"No," she said, face burning brightly. "I'm sorry, I was a bit late…but you're still alive. I broke the curse."

"I still look the same?" he said, looking every which way, looking for a reflection. "Then the curse is not broken, it still remains…" His face was becoming grimmer and grimmer, and Hermione's hopes were quickly failing. He found his reflection and gave a loud, mournful sigh. "And I shall remain."

"I don't understand," Hermione said, scuttling backward toward the foot of the bed. "What do you mean? I broke the curse, didn't I? Beatrice said that-"

"I believe," he told her with a glare. "That I told you to ignore that blubbering idiot and anything that she had to say."

"But-"

"The curse," he said. "Hermione…I used to be handsome."

This had caught Hermione off guard. "What?" she said, in an obvious tone of disbelief that must have insulted him. "What do you mean you used to be handsome?"

"This doesn't seem to be a good time for lengthy explanations," he answered, shifting under the sheets. "So I will keep this in simple terms…" She could tell he was struggling against adding the phrase 'so you can understand' afterward. "But I used to be handsome…straight nose, nice eyes, nice hair…I had no problem attracting women, believe it or not, but after they had talked to me I had the most difficult time in holding their interest. Then along came a hag, and despite my efforts in telling her that I was always told never to open the door to strangers…" A smirk flickered on his mouth. "She felt adamant in her goal to teach me a lesson. Unless I found requited love by midnight of my fortieth birthday, I should remain forever as…" he made a displaying motion of his features, the familiar hooked nose, the bottomless black eyes, the lank hair that needed to be washed of debris and dried drops of blood from the night before. "This."

And she was afraid that he was going to die. Damn Beatrice and her lies.

She crept toward him once again, sitting to look him in the eyes. She could feel her heart beating in her throat as she settled a hand on his thigh. "And what is so wrong with 'this'?"

He looked away, obviously embarrassed. He murmured something that sounded like "everything", though Hermione knew he wasn't so maudlin as to turn to self-pity. Hopefully.

"Shut up," Hermione commanded, in a bold move squirming down and laying her head on his chest, burying her forehead into the hollow of his shoulder. He stiffened from the contact, but gradually relaxed as she placed her hand on his chest and breathed deeply, wanting to just lay there and relax, perhaps fall asleep. "I very much happen to like 'this', thank you."

He sounded slightly amused. "So demanding for a student. You are lucky that I have unnatural feelings for you, otherwise I might feel the need to sacrifice you at my mother's shrine."

"Ah, only true love could prevent such a measure," she said, teasing him.

"Bloody straight. Though…" He fell silent, and his hand trailed little patterns of fire across her back. "Since I haven't changed, I'm only guessing that my manor hasn't changed much either."

"No," Hermione said sleepily. "Not really. There are some new blooms out in the garden, but I don't think they'll last long. Oh…and you do have a rather nice splattering of blood through the entrance room. It's very in fashion right now, as far as interior design is concerned."

"Mhm…" He made a contended sound then posed a very interesting question, one that made him sound uneasy and yet on the verge of laughter, and caused all of the blood to rush into Hermione's face. "How would you feel about marrying me and having lots of sex and babies?"

"Isn't that a bit soon?" she said with a laugh, her eyes opening to peer up at his smirking countenance, with a very good view up his nose. "Sounds wonderful, though I don't know about the babies."

"I was hoping you'd say that," he breathed with a chuckle. "And how do you feel about relocating?"

"Also sounds wonderful. As long as it's not next door to the Weasleys."

"Ah, so cruel."

"But so true. Truth be told, I'd rather steer clear of everyone."

"Even me?"

"Especially you," she smiled mischievously while he shot her a curious look. "Time to time, anyway."

"Yes," he agreed sarcastically. "This arrangement might work out nicely as long as you don't touch anything."

"Good luck with that," she replied, planting an emboldened kiss underneath his chin, making him jerk in surprise. "You know, I hear that Siberia is quite lovely at this time of year."

They fell into silence, simply happy to be in each other's company. Hermione's face suddenly flushed white and she made a little choking sound.

"By the way," she said, her expression immediately faltering as she grimaced, remembered the fresh dirt covering a plot in the house elf section of the graveyard, sitting in the sunlight in the garden. She wormed out of his grasp a bit, gritting her teeth. "I believe I owe you a new house elf…"

§

_My Dearest Hermione,_

Where on earth are you? Your dad and I are worried sick. We didn't know how to reach you until your friend Ron came over and told us how to reach you. Why haven't you sent a letter? Some notice that you were still alive? Something?

For now, I suppose that we'll have to trust that you are alive and well, as Ron told us. I hope that your lessons are going well, and we're looking forward to seeing you again. Ron is such a handsome boy…you're not letting him get away from you, are you? He seems slightly enamored with this Luna girl. He doesn't fancy her, does he? What an odd name, Luna.

Write back soon. You're not in trouble, are you?

Kisses,  
Mum

* * *

Dear Mr. Ronald Wealsey,

Mr. Weasley's bravery in having facing the She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is famous among all the house elves, and the Union of Free Elves would likes to give Mr. Weasley a house elf servant who would be more than honored to serve his noble household. Her name is being Porkpie, and she will arrive on your doorstep in couple days.

Cheers!  
Minty  
President of Union of Free Elves  
Lost Sock Specialist

* * *

Weasel-

At least it wasn't Potter this time. So now I only hate you a little bit more. Don't let the elves in your bed.

Draco Malfoy  
Winner of Teen Witch Weekly's Hottest Bad Boy, 1996-1997

* * *

Dear Miss Granger,

I'm assuming that you're reconsidering a position at Hogwarts? We have a few positions open that you might see more fit than those I considered earlier. Who knows, you might even find them enjoyable.

Pop into my fire sometime, and we can talk.

I hope you're having an enjoyable time with Professor Snape, and that this beautiful weather finds you well. Though knowing his manor, it's probably rather drizzly there, isn't it?

Enjoy the rest of your holiday,  
Albus Dumbledore  
Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

* * *

Hermione,

Good morning. I had to step out for a bit to take care of some things, so you have the house to yourself until I get back. You're free to roam the library if you can find it.

Your favorites are yellow roses, right?

Love,  
Severus

* * *

Severus,

Well done, my boy. Well done.

Albus

The End

* * *

A/N: Extra special thanks to Jen (HunnySnowBunny), Kaliae, and Fire for offering to be my temp betas for the epilogue! Thanks guys for your help. And especially for Laiagarien, since she betaed the rest of this story (quite a bit of work).

Well, I really enjoyed writing this fanfiction, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much. Maybe I'll write another fairy tale, if I get any more ideas. Thank you for all your support, enthusiasm, and ideas, it really helped me all the way.

Severus's eloquent expression, "How would you feel about marrying me and having lots of sex and babies?" is a variant of something Alan Rickman said in _Love Actually_. Great movie. Check it out (plenty of British/Irish hunkiness: Alan Rickman, Hugh Grant, Liam Nieson, and the beautiful Colin Firth among others). Also, I believe I subconsciously stole Snape's love for crossword puzzles from Fleab's "Subtle", so go check it out. My apologies, Fleab. He needed a hobby to distract him from Potions and lusting after Miss Granger.

Again, I can't thank you enough, and now for the individual thank yous: artemisgirl, Akasha Ravensong, Kaaera, HunnySnowBunny (well, he already rescued her from the troll, so I think it's her turn), Kaliae, FiresAtMidnight, Anarane Anwamane, charmed piper, Captain Oblivious, Blatant Discontent, Rylee Smith (The whole Gaston complex was a I decided to divide him between different people, and Beatrice being the main villain of this story completely came out of the blue. Originally, I decided that Ron would go mad and try to kill Snape, but I figured that even _he_ wasn't that much of a prat. I think it worked out better this way), sweetevangeline, CassandraTheEvil (hey, I said death threats were welcome. Hehe), oO-Innocent Dreamer-Oo, ak, Aindel S. Druida (sadly...I like My Little Pony. I actually have that movie...used to watch it all the time when I was a kid.), Greenleaf, The Lady Elizibeth, pickles87 (I agree, sometimes impressionism is much better than detail), angelfish2, crystalclear8050, Lana Manckir, Cow as White as Milk, Imhilien (Yeah...he did it to Potter because of his dad, it would probably have been worse to Hermione's kids, since he had loved her...okay, don't have to think about that now), Hermia ((x2)death by spoon sounds particularly painful), lupinite23, Gold-Emerald fairy, EvieBlack, moviebuff101, Jewlzthejujubean, Tomoe, Mouse, and Sara Lily Potter (I'm so glad that I was the one to introduce you to SS/HG. I enjoy writing it so much. And don't worry, there is no doubt that I'll write more (I have some unfinished ones posted currently, also)).

And, of course, thanks to all the shy people who didn't review, but still read and offered their silent support!

Now, in tradition, I shall supply a list of Fanfiction recommendations that you must look up and read right this very second:

Getting the Hang of Thursdays, one of my absolute favorite fanfics, based on the Time-Loop challenge at WIKTT. It's funny, though-provoking, and smart. It's also a WIP, but Hayseed updates regularly (only hindered recently because of personal matters). Go read, you won't be sorry.

Meeting of the Minds, an absolutely _gorgeous_ take on the Marriage Law challenge. Snape is snarky, Hermione is misled by her hormones, and it's all Ron's fault.

The Twenty, a refreshingly original take on the Snape/Hermione pairing, with a mixing of both the religious and the magical worlds.

Ourobouros, a hilarious parody of "moral relativism and baked goods". Meet Voldemort the kindly caretaker and Bellatrix Black, who judges character in nail color.

You can find all of these in my Favorite Stories section of my author profile. And if they're not there, they're supposed to be, but you can search for them, too.

**Also, there is a rumor there might be a _sequel_ to Bushy and the Beast. Look for a rather long one-shot, "The Hard Way", coming sometime soon. And yes, Remus's feelings for Hermione will be resolved in that story. **

**Cheers, everyone!  
Wonk, the Queen of Cliffies **

Well, that was the longest Author's Note ever.


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